me 

COM  I  No 


c. 


bp  ©li^a  ©me  SMljite 


WINTERBOROUGH.  A  Novel.  i6mo,  $1.25; 
paper,  50  cents. 

WHEN  MOLLY  WAS  SIX.  A  Book  for  Chil- 
dren. With  Colored  Cover  Design  and  other 
Illustrations.  Square  i6mo,  $1.00. 

THE    COMING    OF    THEODORA.      A   Novel. 

i6mo,  $1.25. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA 


ELIZA   ORNE   WHITE 

AUTHOR   OF   "  WINTERBOROUGH,"    "  MISS    BROOKS,"    ETC. 


BOSTON   AND    NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

(Cbe  iiiucrsiDc  press,  Cambn&ge 
1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
BY  EUZA  OKNE  WHITE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Hougbton  &  Co. 


TO 

MY  MOTHER 


17I1S81 


THE   COMING  OF  THEODORA. 


I. 


EVERY  one  in  the  Davidson  household  was 
rejoicing  over  the  coming  of  Theodora,  from 
her  brother,  the  master  of  the  house,  down  to 
the  little  maid  who  swept  and  made  ready  her 
room.  Every  one  in  Edgecomb  was  rejoicing, 
too;  for  Edgecomb  was  small  enough  to  re- 
joice with  those  who  rejoice. 

It  was  twelve  years  since  Theodora  had 
gone  from  the  narrow,  kindly  community  into 
the  great  world,  but  she  had  left  behind  her 
a  vivid  impression  of  her  capacity,  strength, 
and  fearlessness.  She  had  gone  away  a  girl 
of  sixteen ;  she  was  coming  back  a  woman  of 
twenty-eight,  with  the  prestige  of  a  college 
education,  and  the  more  recent  honor  of  an 
excellent  position  as  teacher  of  political  econ- 
omy and  history  in  a  Western  college. 


2  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"Ned,  do  tell  me  something  about  Theo- 
dora," Mrs.  Davidson  had  said  to  her  hus- 
band when  he  proposed  inviting  his  sister  to 
spend  her  summer  vacation  with  them. 

"  You  know  I  have  n't  seen  her,  except  for 
a  day  or  two,  since  she  was  sixteen,"  he  had 
returned.  "  She  was  a  very  good  fellow  then. 
I  beg  her  pardon,  but  she  was  such  a  tomboy 
that  I  was  in  the  habit  of  considering  her 
somewhat  in  the  light  of  a  brother.  We  were 
great  chums ;  although  she  is  two  years 
younger  than  I,  she  was  in  all  my  classes.  " 

"Was  she  pretty?" 

"  Not  pretty,  exactly,  and  yet  certainly  not 
plain.  She  had  handsome  blue  eyes,  with 
dark  lashes,  and  when  I  knew  her  she  had  not 
discovered  that  eyes  can  be  used  for  other  pur- 
poses than  to  see  with,"  and  he  glanced  at 
his  wife,  who  raised  her  brown  eyes  with  a 
protesting  expression. 

"  Is  she  dark  or  light  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Her  hair  is  dark,  a  little  darker  than 
mine,  and  her  complexion  neither  dark  nor 
light,  as  I  remember  it,  —  a  good,  useful  tint 
that  can  go  without  veils  all  summer,  and 
only  look  the  better  for  a  few  shades  of  tan." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  3 

"  Is  she  fond  of  children  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  but  I  am  sure  that  she  is 
enormously  efficient,  and  I  have  no  doubt, 
Marie,  that  she  will  be  delighted  to  preside 
over  your  mending-basket.  You  will  like  her 
immensely." 

Marie  gave  a  gentle  sigh  as  she  looked  at 
the  aforesaid  basket,  which  was  piled  high 
with  small  stockings  and  tiny  undergarments. 
She  was  a  graceful  woman,  with  both  charm 
and  beauty  and  a  manner  that  suited  her  face. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  your  sister 
come,"  she  responded  cordially. 

In  this  case  she  spoke  the  absolute  truth, 
but  she  would  have  said  the  same  thing  if 
Theodora  had  been  represented  as  a  terma- 
gant, so  strong  was  her  belief  in  wifely  sub- 
mission, and  so  great  was  her  dislike  of  wound- 
ing the  feelings  of  those  she  loved.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  add  that  Marie  Davidson 
was  a  favorite,  not  only  with  men,  but  also 
with  her  own  sex,  which  is  perhaps  a  greater 
compliment  to  a  woman.  As  a  girl  she  had 
the  prospect  of  a  brilliant  future,  for  she 
showed  sufficiently  pronounced  artistic  talent 
to  make  two  years  in  Paris  seem  a  necessity, 


4  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

and  she  had  made  a  mark  for  herself  during 
those  two  years.  Her  course,  however,  had 
been  impeded  by  a  number  of  importunate 
lovers,  for,  although  she  could  not  make  up 
her  mind  to  desert  her  art  for  the  sake  of  any 
one  of  them,  she  was  too  tender-hearted  to 
view  their  pain  with  equanimity.  At  last 
Edward  Davidson,  a  brilliant  and  fascinating 
young  artist,  appeared  upon  the  scene  and  at 
once  joined  the  ranks  of  her  suitors,  and 
Marie,  after  a  struggle  of  a  few  months,  con- 
sented to  become  his  wife.  He  vowed  that 
her  marriage  should  make  no  difference  in  her 
career,  and  urged  that  they  could  continue 
their  work  together,  a  suggestion  which  was 
more  magnanimous  in  sound  than  in  reality, 
as  her  talent  was  far  more  pronounced  than 
his.  They  lived  in  Europe  for  some  years 
after  their  marriage,  and  Marie  painted  in 
the  intervals  of  baby-tending,  while  Edward 
planned  great  pictures  that  he  was  to  do  in 
the  future,  and  made  a  few  clever  sketches. 
Perhaps  they  never  would  have  come  home,  so 
dear  was  the  freedom  of  the  foreign  life  to 
both  of  them,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  death 
of  Edward's  father  and  the  consequent  rever- 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  5 

sion  to  himself  of  a  considerable  fortune,  as 
well  as  the  old  family  estate  in  Edgecomb. 
They  somewhat  reluctantly  agreed  that  Amer- 
ica was  a  better  country  than  France  for  chil- 
dren to  grow  up  in,  and  transported  their 
little  flock  across  the  Atlantic,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded, somewhat  to  the  consternation  of  their 
good  Edgecomb  friends,  to  set  up  their  easels 
in  the  sacred  best  parlor  of  the  Davidson 
mansion.  Mrs.  Davidson  gave  several  hours 
a  day  to  her  painting,  and,  as  the  oldest  of  her 
three  children  was  only  six,  it  is  no  wonder  that 
all  Edgecomb  rejoiced  in  the  coming  of  Theo- 
dora. Not  that  the  little  Davidsons  were  neg- 
lected in  any  graver  particular,  but  that  there 
was  a  paucity  of  buttons  on  their  gowns,  and 
a  general  scantiness  of  wardrobe,  which  might 
be  picturesque  and  convenient,  but  which  did 
not  recommend  itself  to  this  conventional  com- 
munity. 

The  Davidsons  came  home  in  December, 
and  Theodora  joined  them  the  following  June. 
She  arrived  one  bright  day  when  Edgecomb 
was  buried  in  green,  with  its  leafy  streets  in 
their  first  freshness,  and  every  garden  a  bower 
of  roses.  The  little  town  nestled  at  the  foot 


6  THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

of  some  green  hills  which  surrounded  it,  and 
helped,  together  with  its  placid  river,  to  make 
it  the  charming  village  it  was.  Architectu- 
rally there  was  much  to  be  desired,  according 
to  its  inhabitants,  but  they  took  heart  of  grace 
when  Edward  Davidson,  fresh  from  European 
travel,  heartily  admired  the  square  white 
houses  with  their  green  blinds,  and  the  smaller 
white  cottages  with  their  vine-covered  piazzas. 
As  Theodora  drove  through  the  Edgecomb 
main  street  with  her  brother,  there  was  not  a 
pedestrian,  however  humble,  who  was  not  inter- 
ested in  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  artist's  sis- 
ter. 

When  they  reached  the  Davidson  house, 
which  was  half  a  mile  away  from  the  centre 
of  the  town,  Theodora  alighted  from  the 
carriage  before  Edward  could  help  her  out 
and  ran  quickly  up  the  steps. 

"  Oh  the  dear  old  white  house!  "  she  cried. 
"  Here  is  the  brass  knocker  just  as  it  used  to 
be,  and  the  green  front  door.  I  am  so  glad 
that  you  have  left  everything  as  it  was,  Ed- 
ward ! " 

The  door  opened  as  she  spoke,  and  a  fair- 
haired,  brown-eyed  lady  in  a  pink  gown  ap- 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  1 

peared  in  the  square  hall,  with  a  small  girl 
clinging  to  one  hand,  and  a  smaller  child  of 
uncertain  sex  burying  its  face  in  the  folds  of 
its  mother's  gown,  while  another  little  girl 
glanced  dubiously  through  a  half-opened  door. 

"  Dora,  this  is  the  aunt  for  whom  you  are 
named,"  explained  Mrs.  Davidson.  "Why, 
my  little  daughter,  how  naughty  you  are ! " 
she  added,  as  Dora  flatly  refused  to  be  kissed 
by  her  relative.  "  And  this  is  Guy,"  she  con- 
tinued, gently  pushing  forward  the  toddling 
baby ;  "  and  where  is  Gladys  ?  Come,  Gladys, 
and  kiss  your  aunt." 

"  That  is  too  much  to  expect,"  said  Theo- 
dora in  her  pleasant  voice  as  she  followed  her 
sister-in-law  into  the  parlor. 

There  could  not  have  been  a  greater  con- 
trast than  these  two  women  presented,  and 
Edward  Davidson  wondered  how  well  they 
would  understand  each  other  as  he  watched 
them  during  the  evening.  He  looked  first 
at  Marie  with  Theodora's  eyes.  Surely  no 
one  could  help  thinking  her  pretty,  with  her 
exquisite  complexion  and  her  fluffy,  golden- 
brown  hair.  But  would  not  Theodora  think 
its  artistic  and  careless  arrangement  untidy  ? 


8  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Then,  too,  would  she  quite  like  that  enchant- 
ing but  somewhat  conscious  smile,  and  the 
upward,  appealing  glance  from  those  soft 
eyes  ?  He  noticed,  also,  that  his  wife's  grace- 
ful pink  gown  was  a  little  the  worse  for  wear. 
Would  his  sister  see  that  soiled  line  around 
the  bottom?  These  reflections  were  induced 
by  the  striking  impression  which  the  first 
glimpse  of  Theodora  made  upon  him.  She 
looked  so  self-reliant,  so  exquisitely  neat, 
so  frank,  and  as  utterly  unconscious  of  her 
attractions  as  if  she  were  a  sensible  man. 
There  was  a  simplicity  and  a  breeziness  about 
her  which  was  refreshing,  and  she  was  un- 
usually fine-looking.  Her  blue  eyes  had  a 
charm  of  their  own,  from  the  directness  of 
their  glance,  and  her  brown  hair  was  arranged 
simply,  but  with  such  finished  care  that  it 
gave  her  a  look  of  distinction.  The  same 
perfection  was  seen  in  her  dress,  a  plain  blue 
serge,  which  could  bear  a  microscopic  inspec- 
tion as  to  its  cut  and  its  spotless  tidiness. 
Theodora  was  tall,  even  taller  than  Marie, 
and  she  had  a  figure  built  for  strength  rather 
than  grace ;  but  her  straight  carriage  and  a 
certain  fearlessness  of  movement  prevented 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODOBA.  9 

her  from  seeming  awkward,  and  added  to  the 
impression  of  distinction  that  Edward  had  al- 
ready received.  He  next  proceeded  to  look  at 
Theodora  with  Marie's  eyes.  Would  not  she 
be  repelled  by  her  directness?  Would  not 
she  be  appalled  by  her  neatness  ?  Would  not 
her  range  of  subjects  seem  hopelessly  deep  to 
the  poor  child  ? 

Edward,  however,  was  a  closer  observer 
than  either  of  the  women,  and  was  rendered 
nervous  by  his  love  for  them. 

At  the  end  of  the  evening,  Marie  took  one 
of  the  old  brass  candlesticks  from  the  high 
white  mantelpiece  and  lighted  Theodora  to  her 
bedroom. 

"  It  is  my  own  old  room,"  Theodora  said  as 
she  paused  on  the  threshold.  "  How  good  of 
you  to  give  it  to  me !  " 

"  We  thought  you  would  feel  more  at  home 
in  it.  We  have  left  the  flowered  paper  on 
the  wall,  although  it  is  a  little  soiled,  because 
we  thought  if  you  wanted  a  new  one  you 
would  rather  choose  it  yourself.  The  furni- 
ture is  all  old,  you  see,  except  the  brass  bed- 
stead." 

"  What  lovely  roses !  "  exclaimed  Theodora. 


10  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  Edward  has  not  forgotten  how  much  I  used 
to  care  about  the  moss-rose  bush  under  the 
lilac.  What  a  good  picture  of  the  children !  " 
and  she  paused  before  a  sketch  of  Dora  and 
Gladys  in  a  very  foreign-looking  garden  with 
their  French  bonne.  "  How  Edward  has  im- 
proved !  It  is  the  best  thing  of  his  I  have  ever 
seen.  It  is  charming,  but  why  didn't  he  put 
you  in,  instead  of  the  nurse  ?  " 

"  I  painted  it,"  Marie  replied,  while  a  wave 
of  color  made  her  prettier  than  ever. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  you  could  paint  like 
that." 

"I  hope  you  have  everything  you  want," 
said  Marie  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room. 
"  I  am  rather  a  shiftless  housekeeper,  and 
I  am  always  seized  with  a  fear  lest  I  have 
forgotten  pins  or  matches." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  forgotten  nothing." 
Then  Theodora,  with  a  sudden  impulse  of 
which  she  seemed  half  ashamed,  put  her  arm 
about  Marie  and  gave  her  a  kiss.  "  Good- 
night, dear,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  thank  you 
enough,  or  half  tell  you  how  delightful  it  is  to 
be  here." 

"  Why,  Ned,  she  is  charming,"  Marie  enthu- 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  11 

siastically  declared  when  she  joined  her  hus- 
band. "  I  have  fallen  hopelessly,  desperately, 
in  love  with  her.  I  should  love  her  because 
she  looks  so  much  like  you,  if  for  no  other  rea- 
son. How  nice  it  was  of  her  not  to  make  the 
children  kiss  her!  And  how  clever  she  is! 
Where  did  she  ever  learn  so  much  about  in- 
vestments, and  the  stock  exchange,  and  the 
condition  of  the  poor  in  Europe  ?  She  knows 
a  great  deal  more  about  the  poor  in  Europe 
than  we  do,  although  we  lived  there  for  eight 
years." 

"  My  dear,  our  minds  were  wholly  taken  up 
with  the  condition  of  two  of  the  poor." 

The  next  morning  Edward  was  still  further 
relieved  when  Theodora  said,  "I  must  tell 
you  how  much  I  like  Marie.  I  have  never 
believed  in  a  married  woman  painting,  but  if 
a  woman  has  her  talent  she  ought  not  to  give 
it  up,  and  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted  to 
make  it  easier  for  her  this  summer  by  taking 
all  the  care  from  her  that  I  can.  I  will  tell 
you  frankly  that  I  did  not  expect  to  like  her, 
but  I  fell  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Edward. 


n. 


"  THERE  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world 
more  delightful  for  a  man  than  to  have  his 
wife  and  his  sister  love  each  other  devotedly, 
and  that  is  to  have  them  both  love  him  even 
more  devotedly,"  Edward  Davidson  decided, 
after  Theodora  had  been  with  them  for  a 
month.  In  his  heart  he  was  aware  that  he 
was  not  worthy  of  the  affection  that  these  two 
women  lavished  upon  him,  for  he  was  almost 
as  clear-sighted  regarding  himself  as  he  was 
concerning  others.  He  knew  that,  although 
he  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  he  was  both  indolent 
and  selfish,  and  he  thanked  Heaven  for  giving 
him  charm  and  an  amiable  disposition,  which 
were  the  heritage  of  his  mother's  people,  since 
it  had  denied  him  the  sterling  qualities  of  the 
Davidsons.  "  Theodora  ought  to  have  been 
the  man,"  he  reflected.  "  She  would  have 
made  Marie  an  exemplary  husband."  And 
yet  Theodora  was  very  womanly  in  her  intense 
and  somewhat  old-fashioned  way.  Beneath 


THE   COMING   OF  THEODORA.  13 

her  skillful  fingers  Marie's  work-basket  was 
rapidly  emptied,  and  under  her  direction  the 
house  became  immaculately  clean.  The  only 
thing  that  Edward  regretted  in  his  lot  was, 
that  Heaven  had  given  these  two  charming 
women  but  a  slight  sense  of  humor,  for,  al- 
though they  appreciated  his  most  conspicuous 
sallies,  his  subtler  wit  was  often  lost  upon 
them.  And  yet,  after  all,  perhaps  it  was  bet- 
ter as  it  was,  he  thought,  at  least  so  far  as 
Marie  was  concerned,  for  no  woman  with  a 
sense  of  humor  could  have  taken  him  seriously 
enough  to  have  married  him.  One  cannot 
have  everything  in  this  world,  and  he  felt  that 
he  could  not  afford  to  have  complete  sympathy 
and  comprehension. 

As  for  Theodora  herself,  she  was  radiantly 
happy.  Her  love  for  her  brother  had  been 
the  one  passion  of  her  life.  It  had  been  fos- 
tered on  scant  food,  and  for  the  last  twelve 
years  would  have  languished  had  it  taken  root 
in  less  fertile  soil,  for  writing  letters  chanced 
to  be  one  of  the  many  things  that  Ned  David- 
son disliked.  When  he  did  write  one,  how- 
ever, it  was  so  charming  as  to  give  Theodora 
a  warm  feeling  about  the  heart,  which  did  not 


14  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

quite  depart  before  the  next  letter  came  some 
months  later.  And  now  Theodora  was  under 
the  same  roof  with  her  brother!  She  could 
help  to  make  his  life  run  more  smoothly. 
She  could  anticipate  his  wants.  She  could 
ride  with  him,  row  with  him,  drive  about  the 
country  with  him.  He  had  made  her  welcome 
to  all  that  was  his  with  the  air  of  a  prince. 
He  had  given  her  equal  rights  in  a  leaky  boat ; 
he  had  allowed  her  to  ride  Dobbin,  a  worthy 
horse  that  had  been  bought  at  a  bargain  for 
farm  work,  or  to  drive  him  in  the  shabby 
buggy ;  he  had  offered  her  the  hospitality  of 
the  tennis-court,  a  picturesque  spot  under  the 
spreading  elms,  where  the  grass  was  so  long 
that  the  white  boundaries  were  indistinct. 
Theodora,  who  was  a  woman  of  action,  had 
promptly  seen  to  the  mending  of  the  boat,  and 
to  the  rejuvenating  of  the  buggy,  and  had  had 
the  grass  cut  on  the  tennis-court  and  marked 
out  its  boundaries  with  her  own  hands.  No 
wonder  that  Edward  Davidson  found  it  plea- 
sant to  have  the  companionship  of  a  sister 
who  loved  him !  No  wonder  that  all  Edge- 
comb  rejoiced  in  the  coming  of  Theodora ! 
She  soon  gave  outsiders  reason  to  rejoice 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  15 

on  their  own  account,  for  she  entered  into  the 
good  works  of  the  community  with  zest.  She 
helped  get  up  a  fair  for  the  benefit  of  the  new 
hospital,  and  she  was  one  of  the  chief  supports 
of  a  vacation  school.  Every  one  gave  her  a 
warm  welcome,  for  the  sake  of  her  brother  as 
well  as  on  her  own  account ;  but  although  she 
made  many  stanch  friends,  she  was  too  inde- 
pendent and  decided  to  be  such  a  universal 
favorite  as  Edward.  The  people  who  were 
not  attracted  by  her  were  chiefly  women  who 
liked  to  rule,  and  whose  judgment  clashed 
with  hers  in  committee  meetings ;  but  even  her 
enemies  agreed  that  she  was  greatly  needed  in 
her  brother's  family,  where  her  desire  to  lead 
would  find  its  legitimate  field. 

Edgecomb  was  about  twenty  miles  from 
Boston,  and  therefore  near  enough  to  that  me- 
tropolis to  share  some  of  its  advantages,  and 
yet  far  enough  away  to  have  its  own  fashions 
and  standards.  Society  in  the  little  town 
was  composed  of  two  classes,  —  those  persons 
who  went  out  with  the  coming  of  the  summer 
heat  and  sought  refuge  at  the  seashore ;  and 
those  who  came  in  with  the  summer,  seeking 
refuge  from  the  greater  heat  of  the  cities.  It 


16  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

was  therefore  not  as  purely  feminine  a  com- 
munity as  one  is  apt  to  find  in  New  England ; 
but  the  masculine  element  was  composed 
wholly  of  the  married,  the  elderly,  or  the  very 
young.  There  were  plenty  of  boys,  and  sev- 
eral young  fellows  of  twenty  or  thereabouts 
at  home  on  a  college  vacation ;  but  there  was 
nobody  "  of  the  right  age  for  Theodora,"  as 
Mrs.  Davidson  expressed  it. 

"Not  that  it  makes  any  difference,"  she 
confided  to  her  husband,  "  for  Theodora 
does  n't  like  men." 

"Doesn't  she?"  he  asked.  "Then  she  is 
the  first  woman  I  have  ever  seen  who  does  n't 
like  them.  A  woman  may  be  too  proud  or 
too  shy  to  show  it,  or  so  unattractive  that  men 
do  not  like  her,  but  I  have  never  yet  seen  a 
woman  who  in  her  heart  of  hearts  did  not  find 
my  sex  interesting." 

"  You  can't  look  into  their  heart  of  hearts," 
she  objected,  "  and,  in  common  with  most  men, 
you  think  all  women  are  somewhat  like  your 
wife,  but  you  must  believe  me  when  I  tell  you 
that  Theodora  despises  men." 

"  Despises  them  ?  Very  likely  ;  that  is  an- 
other matter.  I  only  maintain  that  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  likes  them." 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.  17 

She  certainly  liked  boys,  there  could  be  no 
doubt  upon  that  score,  and  she  soon  had  a 
little  circle  of  friends  of  the  other  sex  who 
admired  her  in  a  hearty  and  unqualified  fa- 
shion. Her  strength,  her  freedom  from  affec- 
tation, and  her  skill  in  playing  tennis  won  their 
respect.  They  did  not  fall  in  love  with  her, 
however.  Theodora  Davidson  was  not  the 
kind  of  woman  with  whom  men  fall  in  love ;  at 
least  so  her  friends  said.  This  was  one  reason 
why  she  was  such  a  favorite  with  the  mothers 
of  sons :  they  liked  her  because  she  was  so 
sensible  and  so  "  safe."  A  young  man  could 
gain  nothing  but  good  from  her,  for  she  was 
as  unsentimental  as  the  fondest  mother's  heart 
could  wish.  Her  brother  adapted  Sylvia's 
song  to  her:  — 

"  Who  is  Theo  ?  What  is  she,  that  mothers  all  commend 

her? 

Helpful,  fair,  and  wise  is  she  ; 
The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her 
That  she  might  admired  be. 

"  Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair  ?    Indeed,  we  think  she  's  kinder. 

Our  dear  sons'  faults  she  doth  repair, 
And  makes  all  Edgecomb  mind  her, 
And,  helping  all,  inhabits  there. 

"  Then  to  Theo  let  us  sing,  for  Theo  is  excelling,"  etc. 


18  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

During  the  summer,  Edward  and  Marie  saw 
far  too  little  of  Theodora,  for  the  various  fes- 
tivities that  were  given  in  her  honor  made 
her,  for  the  time  being,  a  public  character. 
In  addition,  all  her  Eastern  friends  demanded 
little  visits  from  her,  so  that  she  was  seldom 
able  to  spend  a  peaceful,  unbroken  week  at 
home.  As  the  summer  drew  to  a  close,  her 
brother  and  his  wife  became  aware  with  dis- 
may that  it  would  soon  be  time  for  Theodora 
to  return  to  her  college.  They  had  grown  so 
dependent  upon  her  that  they  could  not  bear 
to  think  of  the  wrench  of  the  approaching 
parting.  It  was  Edward  who  conceived  the 
idea  that  there  need  be  no  separation.  He 
had  found  his  sister  scanning  two  letters  with 
a  perplexed  expression. 

"What's  the  matter,  Theo?"  he  asked 
lightly.  "  You  look  as  if  you  had  something 
on  your  mind." 

"  I  have.  Here  is  a  letter  from  the  princi- 
pal of  my  college  saying  that  she  wishes  to 
know  whether  I  mean  to  return  this  autumn, 
as  she  has  heard  of  some  one  who  could  fill  my 
place.  She  hopes  that  I  may  come  back,  as 
she  would  prefer  me  to  any  one  else,  but.  she 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODOBA.  19 

has  heard  a  rumor  to  the  effect  that  I  mean  to 
stay  in  the  East.  I  can't  think  how,  as  I 
have  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

Theodora  had  felt  herself  so  indispensable 
in  the  school  that  the  thought  that  her  position 
could  be  filled  with  so  much  ease  gave  her  a 
sharp  pang. 

"I  have  another  letter,"  she  continued, 
"from  Rhoda  Emerson;  you  remember,  Ed- 
ward, what  a  charming  little  girl  she  was,  and 
she  is  even  more  lovely  now ;  she  wants  me 
to  join  her  in  starting  a  college  settlement. 
If  I  see  my  way  clear  to  doing  this,  she  will 
give  up  her  position  as  governess,  but  other- 
wise she  will  keep  on  where  she  is  for  another 
year,  as  she  does  not  feel  that  she  is  suffi- 
ciently practical  to  succeed  in  a  college  settle- 
ment alone." 

"  Theo,  what  perfect  nonsense  it  is  for  you 
to  think  of  doing  either  of  these  things,"  he 
cried  impulsively.  "  Of  course  they  all  want 
you,  everybody  does,  but  your  place  is  here." 

"They  don't  all  absolutely  need  me,"  she 
said  with  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice.  "  That 
is  just  the  point ;  my  place,  you  see,  can  be 
filled  in  the  college.  Rhoda  needs  me,  and  so, 


20  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

although  I  have  never  tried  that  sort  of  work, 
I  may  decide  to  go  to  her,  and  yet  I  am  so 
fond  of  teaching  and  of  my  scholars  that  I  am 
inclined  "  — 

"  Theo,  your  place  can  never  be  filled  here," 
he  broke  in.  "  Marie  and  I  were  saying  only 
last  night  how  we  should  miss  you  when  you 
went  away.  I  did  n't  think  you  could  give  up 
your  work  in  the  West,  but  if  they  can  fill 
your  place —  Theo,  my  dearest  Theo,  you 
have  no  idea  how  much  good  you  have  done  us 
this  summer,  and,  when  these  everlasting  visits 
are  over  and  you  settle  down  here,  it  will  be 
even  nicer.  Why  not  live  with  us  always  ?  A 
sister's  place  is  surely  with  her  only  brother, 
and  Marie  will  be  able  to  do  so  much  more 
painting  if  you  are  here  to  help  take  charge 
of  things.  Dearest,  I  know  that  your  con- 
science is  your  strongest  point.  Consider  that 
it  is  your  duty  to  stay  with  us  and  I  am  sure 
we  shall  keep  you." 

Theodora  was  more  touched  by  her  brother's 
words  than  she  cared  to  show.  Nevertheless 
she  took  some  days  to  consider  his  proposition, 
an  unusual  thing  with  her,  as  her  mind  was 
generally  made  up  at  once  on  all  subjects ;  but 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  21 

this  was  a  very  serious  decision,  for  if  she 
stayed  with  him  it  involved  renouncing  all  her 
old  ambitions.  She  longed  to  be  a  power  in 
the  world,  either  through  her  teaching  or  by 
some  larger  scheme,  such  as  Rhoda  Emerson 
proposed,  and  it  would  be  a  sacrifice,  in  many 
ways,  to  be  instead  merely  a  power  in  one 
quiet  village  household. 

When  Edward  told  his  wife  that  he  had 
asked  Theodora  to  live  with  them  permanently 
she  made  no  comment,  but  his  quick  eye 
caught  an  added  shade  of  color  in  her  face. 

"  Why  Marie,  don't  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked 
in  distress.  "  I  thought  it  was  just  what 
would  please  you  beyond  everything,  as  you 
are  so  fond  of  Theodora." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  have  her  stay,  and  I  do 
love  her  dearly." 

"  Then  what  is  the  trouble  ?  Out  with  it, 
young  woman." 

"  I  was  thinking  that  you  might  have  con- 
sulted me  first,  but  that  was  a  narrow  and 
selfish  feeling,"  said  Marie  generously. 

"  I  did  n't  have  time  to  consult  anybody ; 
the  words  sprang  to  my  lips  and  I  couldn't 
help  saying  them." 


22  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  I  am  glad  she  is  to  be  here  this  winter ;  I 
was  only  thinking  —  forever  is  such  a  long 
time,  Edward,  —  she  may  get  tired  of  us. 
Could  n't  you  ask  her  to  spend  the  winter  with 
us  ?  "  she  inquired  timidly. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  as  unpractical  as  the  rest 
of  your  sex.  Theo  can't  give  up  teaching  for 
a  year  and  expect  to  get  back  her  old  position. 
I  shouldn't  have  the  face  to  ask  her  to  live 
with  us  merely  for  a  year.  No,  it  must  be 
forever  or  not  at  all ;  and  of  the  two  I  vastly 
prefer  forever." 

"  So  do  I,"  assented  Marie.  "  Where  is  she  ? 
Let  me  go  to  her  and  beg  her  to  stay  with  us." 

Theodora  finally  decided  to  remain  in  Edge- 
comb.  She  knew  that  a  few  years  ago  she 
would  have  made  a  different  decision,  but  she 
had  begun  to  hunger  for  family  ties.  Her 
passionate  love  for  her  brother,  and  the  cer- 
tainty that  she  could  be  of  use  to  him,  out- 
weighed her  larger  ambitions.  When  she  told 
him  her  determination,  he  drew  her  arm 
through  his  and  kissed  her  affectionately.  "  I 
knew  you  would  n't  go  back  on  us,  Theo,"  he 
observed,  "  and  so  I  was  n't  the  least  little  bit 
uneasy  while  you  were  making  up  your  mind." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  23 

Her  face  glowed  with  happiness.  When  it 
lighted  up  in  that  sudden  fashion  she  was 
beautiful. 

"  Edward,  you  have  given  me  more  pleasure 
by  wanting  me  to  live  with  you  than  you  can 
imagine.  You  can't  think  what  it  is  to  me  to 
have  a  home  among  my  own  people,  and  to  be 
able  to  be  of  use  to  those  I  love." 

"  And  a  home  you  shall  have  with  us  al- 
ways," he  replied  fervently,  being  in  truth 
greatly  touched  by  her  affection;  "at  least 
until  some  other  fellow  finds  out  that  — 

"  Theo  is  excelling 
Each  mortal  thing  upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling." 

"  That  will  never  happen,"  she  said  firmly. 
"All  the  better  for  us,  then,"  he  returned 
lightly. 


III. 

IN  September  the  summer  population  of 
Edgecomb  began  to  scatter,  while  its  place 
was  filled  by  the  more  permanent  winter 
residents.  Among  them  the  two  ministers 
returned,  for  Edgecomb  was  divided  theolo- 
gically into  liberal  conservatives  and  conser- 
vative liberals.  The  Davidsons  had  a  pew  in 
both  churches,  rather  to  Edward's  amusement. 
Nathaniel  Davidson  had  been  a  pillar  in  the 
Orthodox  Church,  and  his  pew  descended 
to  his  son,  who  kept  it  because  he  could  not 
bear  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  good  old  Mr. 
Thorndyke,  the  clergyman.  On  the  other 
hand,  Francis  Compton,  the  conservative  lib- 
eral, was  his  most  intimate  friend,  and  so  he 
felt  obliged  to  take  a  pew  in  the  new  church, 
especially  as  Marie  preferred  to  go  there. 
Edward,  however,  disliked  to  hurt  his  own  feel- 
ings quite  as  much  as  to  disturb  those  of  his 
friends,  and  therefore  his  attendance  at  church 
was  chiefly  vicarious.  He  was  glad  to  have 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  25 

his  wife  go,  for  he  believed  that  religion  was 
a  good  thing,  especially  for  women :  poor 
souls !  they  had  a  sufficiently  hard  time  in  life, 
and  it  was  only  fair  that  they  should  have  all 
possible  alleviations.  Theodora  chanced  to 
dislike  church-going  as  much  as  her  brother 
did,  and  was  always  ready  to  stay  at  home 
with  him  and  the  children  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, while  Marie  went  to  church  and  gathered 
what  help  she  could  from  the  ministrations  of 
Francis  Compton.  A  warm  friendship  existed 
between  her  and  the  young  preacher.  It  was 
the  kind  of  friendship  that  is  viewed  with 
equanimity  by  the  most  gossiping  of  neighbors, 
and  with  satisfaction  by  the  most  jealous  of 
husbands.  Edward,  however,  was  far  from 
being  a  jealous  husband.  He  gloried  in  the 
thought  that  his  wife  charmed  other  men,  and 
that,  notwithstanding,  she  should  have  chosen 
this  same  faulty,  good-for-nothing  Edward 
Davidson  to  love  and  to  honor.  He  did  not 
grudge  Compton  the  overflowings  of  her  large 
sympathy,  —  poor  Compton,  whose  brilliant 
young  wife  had  died  seven  years  before,  after 
a  brief  twelve  months  of  marriage.  Ever 
since  the  Davidsons  had  returned  from  abroad, 


26  THE  CONING   OF  THEODORA. 

Compton  and  his  little  girl  had  dined  with 
them  once  a  week,  until  his  vacation  had  made 
an  interregnum  in  the  pleasant  custom,  and 
now  that  he  was  at  home  again  it  was  to  be 
renewed. 

"  I  am  longing  to  see  how  you  will  get  on 
with  Frank  Compton,"  Marie  said  to  Theo- 
dora, as  they  were  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  dining-room  on  the  day  when 
their  guests  were  expected.  "  Of  course  you 
will  like  him,  for  everybody  does,  but  I  am 
wondering  whether  you  will  draw  each  other 
out  or  shut  each  other  up." 

"  Judging  by  the  one  sermon  of  his  which 
I  have  heard,  I  should  say  that  we  shall  not 
have  one  taste  or  idea  in  common.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  he  is  an  excellent  man,"  Theodora 
added,  as  she  noticed  the  troubled  flush  on 
Marie's  face,  "but  I  don't  particularly  take 
to  young  ministers.  I  shall  like  him,  though, 
because  he  is  Edward's  friend." 

"  We  all  feel  so  sorry  for  him,"  continued 
Marie  with  a  sigh.  "His  marriage  was 
ideal,  and  he  has  had  such  a  hard  life  ever 
since  his  wife  died !  He  was  so  wrapped  up  in 
her  that  I  am  sure  he  will  never  marry  again, 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  2T 

and  so  life  holds  nothing  very  cheerful  for 
him." 

"  He  has  his  child,"  Theodora  suggested. 

"  Yes,  but  he  can't  get  much  comfort  out  of 
her,  for  she  is  a  difficult  child  to  manage;  a 
problem  in  short.  She  is  so  mischievous  that 
I  don't  like  her  influence  on  my  children,  yet 
I  can't  let  Frank  see  that  I  disapprove  of 
her." 

"  Why  not  ?  If  she  has  a  bad  influence 
over  your  children,  I  should  tell  him  frankly 
that  I  thought  it  best  that  they  should  see 
very  little  of  each  other." 

"  The  poor  child  is  so  lonely  that  I  have  n't 
the  heart  to  suggest  her  seeing  less  of  Dora 
and  Gladys,  and  besides,  it  would  hurt  Mr. 
Compton  deeply  if  he  knew  that  I  did  not 
approve  of  his  little  girl.  It  must  be  terribly 
hard,"  she  added  after  a  pause,  "  to  have  your 
life  all  duty,  and  your  chief  happiness  in  the 
past.  The  thought  of  his  wife  is  a  great  in- 
spiration to  him,  and  perhaps  he  could  not 
preach  such  helpful  sermons  if  he  had  not 
suffered." 

Theodora  had  scant  sympathy  for  a  man 
whose  native  powers,  reinforced  by  the  mein- 


28  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ory  of  his  wife,  could  accomplish  nothing  less 
commonplace  than  the  sermon  that  she  had 
heard.  She  did  not  give  voice  to  this  senti- 
ment, however,  but  silently  followed  her  sister- 
in-law  into  the  parlor. 

"  Here  they  come  now,"  said  Marie  pres- 
ently, "  and  Edward  is  with  them." 

As  Theodora  shook  hands  with  the  Rev- 
erend Francis  Compton,  she  thought  that  she 
had  never  seen  so  boyish-looking  a  man  of  his 
age.  This  youthful  appearance  was  accounted 
for  by  the  extreme  delicacy  of  his  complexion, 
which  was  as  fair  as  a  girl's,  and  his  very 
blond  hair  and  beardless  face  ;  but  it  suggested 
lack  of  force,  and  his  low  voice  added  to  the 
impression.  She  quickly  made  up  her  mind 
that  there  was  nothing  distinctive  about  him, 
but  changed  her  opinion  when  she  looked  into 
his  gray  eyes,  which  were  on  a  level  with  hers. 
She  read  candor,  sympathy,  and  extreme 
refinement  in  their  expression.  He  did  not 
belong  to  the  class  of  men  that  stirred  her 
imagination,  but  she  felt  confidence  in  him  at 

o 

once,  and  she  liked  him  as  she  would  have 
liked  a  gentle,  sweet-natured  girl. 

"  Essie,  shake  hands  with  Miss  Davidson," 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  29 

he  said,  turning  to  his  child,  whose  presence 
Theodora  had  forgotten. 

Essie  had  clasped  her  hands  behind  her, 
but  she  obeyed  her  father,  and  held  out  a 
small  hand  awkwardly  and  half  defiantly. 
She  was  a  pale,  plain  little  thing,  with  a  mop 
of  straight  black  hair,  and  large  black  eyes, 
which  looked  at  her  new  acquaintance  with 
preternatural  solemnity  as  if  they  were  gazing 
through  all  outer  disguises  to  her  very  soul. 
She  was  seven  years  old,  as  we  count  age  in 
this  world,  but  she  had  a  quaint  shrewdness 
and  an  uncanny  penetration  that  made  it  seem 
at  moments  as  if  the  head  on  those  young 
shoulders  had  seen  ten  times  seven  years  in 
some  other  planet.  She  was  painfully  shy, 
and  Theodora  only  succeeded  in  extracting 
short  and  frightened  replies  from  her ;  but 
she  had,  nevertheless,  the  disconcerting  feeling 
of  having  been  judged  and  found  wanting. 
It  amused  her  to  find  that  a  creature  so  small 
and  frail  could  produce  such  a  vivid  impres- 
sion of  strong  and  peculiar  personality. 

There  was  much  pleasant  talk  during  din- 
ner, about  local  matters,  town  politics,  and 
literature.  Afterwards,  while  Marie  and  Ed- 


30  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ward  were  occupied  with  the  children,  Theo- 
dora and  Mr.  Coinpton  had  a  few  words  to- 
gether. They  adjourned  to  the  studio,  a 
room  that  had  been  positively  obnoxious  to 
Theodora's  order-loving  soul  ever  since  she 
had  first  seen  its  picturesque  confusion.  The 
canvases,  bric-a-brac,  old  carvings,  draperies, 
and  plaster  casts  were  arranged,  so  far  as 
she  could  see,  without  method,  or  regard  for 
anything  but  a  desire  to  furnish  a  resting- 
place  for  dust.  Unanswered  letters  were  lying 
untidily  about  on  the  table,  together  with 
Edward's  driving-gloves,  and  Guy's  torn  straw 
hat,  while  the  dark  covers  of  the  books  had 
taken  on  a  gray  complexion. 

"  I  will  show  you  that  passage  of  which  we 
were  speaking,"  Mr.  Compton  observed,  as  he 
took  up  one  of  the  volumes. 

"  Let  me  dust  it  for  you,"  she  said,  quickly 
divining  in  the  neat  and  well-appointed  man 
before  her  a  kindred  spirit,  so  far  as  dirt  and 
disorder  were  concerned.  She  returned  pres- 
ently with  a  cheese-cloth  duster  of  her  own 
make. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  begged.  "  You  will 
soil  that  fresh  white  dress." 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.  31 

He  looked  with  hearty  approval  at  her  spot- 
less dimity  gown,  with  the  blue  ribbon  around 
the  waist,  and  then  his  eyes  rested  on  her  blue 
eyes  and  brown  hair. 

"  Do  you  know  you  are  wonderfully  like 
Edward,"  he  said. 

"  It  gives  me  so  much  pleasure  to  be 
thought  to  look  like  him,"  she  responded  heart- 
ily. "  I  can't  see  the  likeness  myself,  for  he  is 
so  handsome,  and  then  he  is  so  much  lighter 
in  coloring ;  but  I  suppose  there  is  a  family 
resemblance,  since  every  one  speaks  of  it." 

"I  wish  I  could  tell  you  what  Edward  has 
been  to  me,"  he  proceeded  with  a  frank  com- 
radeship of  manner  that  had  its  charm.  "  I 
can  only  say  that  there  is  nobody  like  him,  and 
this  you  know  already." 

"  I  do,"  she  replied  with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  know  his  sister,"  he  added 
impulsively,  after  a  little  pause. 

"  And  I  am  so  glad  to  know  his  best  friend." 

"  It  is  awfully  nice  that  you  are  to  live  with 
them,"  he  went  on,  "  for  the  one  thing,  the 
only  thing,  that  they  need  is  a  little  more  order 
and  system." 

She   looked  around  the  studio  and  gave  a 


32  THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

bright  laugh.  "  You  must  think  that  I 
haven't  accomplished  much  here,  but  I  am 
biding  my  time.  I  have  given  up  doing  any- 
thing in  this  place  while  Marie  is  so  hard  at 
work,  but  is  n't  the  wall-paper  dreadful  ?  " 

The  old,  soiled  wall-paper,  of  a  dingy  gray 
hue,  brightened  by  inconspicuous  gilt  figures, 
had  been  covered  in  places  by  gray  cartridge- 
paper  roughly  tacked  up  to  make  a  temporary 
background. 

"  Edward  has  promised  to  get  a  new  paper," 
she  continued,  "  but  I  am  afraid  he  will  never 
do  it." 

"  What  terrible  plot  are  you  two  people 
hatching  ?  "  Edward  inquired,  as  he  sauntered 
into  the  room  and  threw  himself  down  on  the 
faded  blue  window-cushion. 

Marie  appeared  presently  with  a  bowl  of 
nasturtiums,  which  she  put  on  the  untidy  table 
with  no  apparent  consciousness  of  its  disorder. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Compton,"  she  said,  "  I  have  n't 
told  you  yet  how  much  I  liked  your  sermon. 
It  was  so  good  to  get  you  back.  Your  views 
about  truth  frightened  me  a  little,  however, 
and  made  me  feel  like  a  lying  hypocrite." 

"  Come  now,   Mrs.  Davidson,  don't  praise 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  33 

that  particular  sermon,  or  I  shall  accuse  you 
of  hypocrisy.  It  was  written  after  I  had  at- 
tended two  funerals,  and  when  I  was  dead- 
tired,  so  it  was  very  poor.  I  am  sure  Miss 
Davidson  agrees  with  me." 

Theodora  was  silent  a  moment,  trying  to  find 
a  reply  which  should  combine  truth  and  polite- 
ness, an  exercise  in  which  she  was  not  skilled. 

"  I  liked  the  extracts  from  Emerson  im- 
mensely," she  said  at  last. 

Her  brother  and  Mr.  Compton  laughed,  but 
Marie  seemed  disturbed. 

"  You  are  having  a  glimpse  behind  the 
scenes,  Theo,"  Edward  remarked.  "  I  dare 
say  you  supposed  that  a  minister  was  like  a 
clock,  and  that  all  that  was  necessary  was  to 
wind  him  up  and  set  him  going.  He  is  more 
like  a  fire ;  sometimes  he  sparkles  and  scintil- 
lates, and  sometimes  he  refuses  to  kindle." 

"  I  must  confess,"  Theodora  acknowledged, 
turning  to  Mr.  Compton,  "  that  I  have  always 
heretofore  thought  of  a  minister  as  an  abstract 
quantity,  a  person  who  belonged  in  the  pulpit. 
I  have  not  thought  of  his  outside  life ;  but 
then  I  have  never  known  a  minister  unpro- 
fessionally." 


34  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"  In  sh^rt,  you  regard  a  minister,  as  you 
would  a  ticket-agent  or  a  horse-car  conductor, 
as  only  existing  for  official  purposes,  and  at 
the  point  where  he  touches  your  own  life  ?  " 
Edward  suggested. 

"I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  making  the 
comparison,"  Theodora  said  gravely,  not  no- 
ticing the  sparkle  in  her  brother's  eyes,"  but  I 
suppose  I  do  think  of  people  in  that  outside 
way." 

"  Now  this  is  very  interesting,"  said  Mr. 
Compton.  "  How  do  you  manage  to  accom- 
plish it?  It  must  be  so  restful !  But  you  have 
never  had  to  deal  with  a  whole  parish." 

"  No,  but  I  have  had  to  deal  with  a  large 
school.  Life  would  be  simply  intolerable  to 
me  if  I  had  to  take  a  personal  interest  in  every 
one  I  met,"  she  confessed.  "  If  I  treated  all 
the  world  as  if  they  were  my  friends,  it  would 
seem  to  make  genuine,  true  f  riendship  a  mock- 
ery." 

"  There  is  truth  for  you !  "  said  Edward. 
"  Can't  you  preach  another  sermon  about 
truth  and  work  that  in  ?  " 

Mr.  Compton  laughed.  "  You  have  no  idea, 
Miss  Davidson,  what  interesting  suggestions 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  35 

your  brother  has  to  offer  with  regard  to  ser- 
mons. I  have  often  wanted  to  construct  one 
on  the  lines  he  indicates.  It  is  a  pity  that  the 
men  with  the  original  fancies  are  so  seldom  in 
the  pulpit." 

"  If  here  is  n't  old  Mrs.  Fraley,"  Edward 
exclaimed  at  this  point.  "  Good  Lord  deliver 
us!" 

He  made  a  hasty  retreat,  but  Marie  called 
after  him,  "  Edward !  It  is  cruel  of  you  to  go 
off  when  the  poor  old  thing  adores  you  so." 

"  Tell  her  I  adore  her,  too,  but  that  I  want 
to  leave  the  field  clear  for  Frank.  It  is 
against  my  principles  to  try  to  cut  out  an- 
other fellow,  and  Frank  is  even  fonder  of  her 
than  I  am." 

Edward  was  in  the  orchard  with  the  children 
by  the  time  Mrs.  Fraley  had  made  her  way 
into  the  studio ;  she  always  dispensed  with  the 
formality  of  ringing  the  door-bell.  She  was  a 
forlorn-looking  creature,  with  a  shaking  head 
and  a  withered  hand,  and  a  gown  and  shawl 
that  were  neat  but  hopelessly  shabby.  In 
former  years  she  had  done  the  spring  cleaning 
in  the  Davidson  household,  and  she  was  now 
living,  rent  free,  in  a  small  house  that  Edward 


36  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

owned.  She  accepted  his  generosity  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  and  was  always  finding  fault,  in 
her  querulous  voice,  because  he  did  not  keep 
her  cottage  in  better  repair.  And  yet,  al- 
though she  felt  privileged  to  scold  him  freely, 
she  loved  him  fondly. 

"  Why,  I  thought  I  see  Mr.  Eddie  at  the 
winder,"  she  said,  with  such  keen  disappoint- 
ment that  Marie  and  Mr.  Compton  threw 
themselves  into  the  breach  with  even  more 
than  their  accustomed  ardor.  As  for  Theodora, 
she  shared  her  brother's  physical  repulsion  to 
this  woman,  as  well  as  his  mental  aversion  to 
all  bores ;  but  she  was  so  sorry  for  her  that  she 
struggled  against  her  uncharitable  feelings, 
and  even  went  the  length  of  promising  to  see 
what  could  be  done  about  her  smoking  stove. 
Marie  loaded  her  down  with  good  things  from 
the  larder,  and  Frank  walked  home  with  her 
to  carry  her  properties,  while  Essie  trotted 
along  by  his  side  like  a  little  dog. 

Edward  returned  to  the  studio  as  soon  as 
the  guests  had  departed. 

"  Well,  what  was  it  this  time  ?  "  he  inquired. 
"  New  '  winders  '  ?  Or  a  new  roof  ?  Or  per- 
haps she  would  like  the  house  painted  ?  " 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.  37 

"  It  was  just  a  friendly  visit." 

"  She  mentioned  that  the  stove  did  n't  draw 
well,"  Theodora  remarked. 

"  Poor  old  stove !  I  can  sympathize  with 
it,  for  I  don't  draw  well  either.  Did  she  add 
that  it  smoked  ?  If  so,  we  have  still  more  in 
common.  I  feel  like  a  twin  brother  to  that 
stove !  I  suppose  Marie  was  as  effusive  as 
ever.  Theo,  I  could  tell  the  rank  of  our  vis- 
itors if  I  were  blind,  for  Marie's  greeting  is 
always  in  inverse  ratio  to  their  importance. 
If  Mrs.  Fraley  were  a  duchess,  or  the  queen  of 
England  herself,  she  could  not  treat  her  with 
more  distinguished  consideration ;  whereas  she 
would  be  a  trifle  haughty  if  Queen  Victoria 
were  to  walk  in,  and  her  manner  would  seem 
to  say,  '  You  are  only  a  widowed  queen, 
whereas  /am  the  wife  of  Edward  Davidson ! ' 
As  for  Frank,  I  suppose  you  recognized,  Theo- 
dora, that  Mrs.  Fraley  was  his  favorite  parish- 
ioner ?  They  all  are.  He  has  what  might  be 
called  the  ministerial  manner." 

"  How  did  you  like  Frank  ?  "  Marie  asked 
Theodora. 

"  I  think  he  is  very  pleasant." 

Marie  was  troubled  by  this  lack  of  enthusi- 


38  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

asm.  "  He  is  more  than  pleasant.  He  is  very 
unselfish,  and  so  nice  with  the  children.  He 
has  a  beautiful  nature." 

"  I  like  him  very  much.  I  don't  think  I 
underrate  his  attractions  ;  but  I  prefer  a  man 
who  is  masculine,  even  if  he  has  the  faults  of 
his  sex.  He  can  leave  a  beautiful  nature  to 
women." 

"Theo,  my  love,"  said  Edward,  "I  have 
always  admired  you,  but  now  I  adore  you.  I 
have  been  struggling  for  the  last  six  months 
to  copy  Frank  and  cultivate  a  '  beautiful  na- 
ture,' to  please  my  wife.  I  shall  cease  now 
and  be  my  old,  unregenerate  self,  to  please  my 
sister." 

After  Frank  Compton  and  his  little  girl 
had  seen  Mrs.  Fraley  home,  Essie  remarked, 
"  I  don't  like  that  lady." 

"  My  dear,  you  must  try  to  like  her.  If 
you  were  poor  and  old  and  unfortunate  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  Mrs.  Fraley ;  I  don't 
mind  her.  I  mean  that  Miss  Davidson." 

"  Why  don't  you  like  her  ?  I  thought  her 
charming." 

"  She  was  n't  charming  to  me,"  the  child 
said  sullenly. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  39 

"  What  did  she  say  to  my  little  girl  ?  " 
"She  asked  me  what  my  name  was." 
"  I  am  sure  there  was  no  harm  in  that." 
"  But   what    came   after  was   the   harmful 
part.      I  told  her  '  Essie,'  of  course,  and  she 
said  she  knew  that,  but  she  wanted  to  call  me 
by  my   real  name,  as  she    did  n't    like   nick- 
names ;  and  when  I  told  her  it  was  Estelle  she 
said,    'You    have    a   French   name,'  as    if   a 
French   name    was   wicked !     '  However,'  she 
said, '  I  shall  call  you  by  it  if  you  don't  mind.' 
I  hate  her  because  she  did  n't  like  my  darling 
mother's  beautiful  name." 

"  My  dear,"  her  father  said  gently,  "  she 
didn't  know  it  was  your  mother's  name." 

"  I  don't  like  her,  and  I  don't  Want  her  to 
call  me  anything!"  the  child  exclaimed  pas- 
sionately. 

So  it  will  be  seen  that  there  was  one  person 
in  Edgecomb  who  did  not  rejoice  in  the  com- 
ing of  Theodora. 


IV. 

So  long  as  Theodora  was  a  visitor  in  her 
brother's  house,  her  activity  was  kept  in 
check.  Now  that  she  was  a  permanent  part 
of  the  family  it  grew  apace,  for  there  was  so 
much,  in  every  direction,  to  be  done,  besides 
a  number  of  things  that  needed  to  be  undone. 
Marie  was  hard  at  work  on  a  portrait  of  her 
handsome  neighbor,  Mrs.  Shimmin,  that  was 
to  be  finished  by  the  first  of  October,  when  the 
Shimmins  returned  to  New  York,  and  so  the 
housekeeping  was  of  a  more  than  ordinarily 
defective  kind,  while  the  picture  grew  in  the 
opposite  direction,  and  became  each  day  a 
better  representation  of  its  beautiful  original. 
In  the  studio,  Marie  was  more  charming  than 
at  any  other  time.  She  looked  as  young  and 
fresh  as  a  school-girl,  as  she  stood  before  her 
easel,  enveloped  in  a  big  blue  apron,  with  her 
paint-brush  in  her  hand,  and  her  pretty  head 
tilted  thoughtfully  to  one  side,  too  intent  upon 
her  work  to  be  conscious  of  her  charms.  She 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  41 

never  looked  so  lovable  and  dear,  and  Theo- 
dora was  often  seized  with  the  unseemly  wish 
to  throw  her  arms  about  her  and  kiss  her,  a 
desire  which  she  was  too  considerate  to  gratify. 
The  children  were  less  thoughtful,  and  Marie 
was  often  interrupted  in  her  work  by  the 
clasp  of  a  small  hand,  and  a  little  upturned 
face  that  begged  for  "  just  one  kiss,  mamma." 
Theodora  wondered  at  her  unvarying  sweet- 
ness and  patience  with  these  troublesome  little 
comforts.  There  were  other  interruptions  that 
were  less  agreeable. 

"  I  wish  I  did  n't  have  to  think  about 
breakfasts  and  dinners  !  "  Marie  cried  in  de- 
spair one  morning,  when  the  butcher  appeared 
just  as  her  work  was  well  under  way. 

"  Let  me  see  him  for  you,"  said  Theodora, 
who  was  entertaining  the  model.  "  What 
shall  I  order?" 

"  Anything  you  like.  Perhaps  you  can  find 
up  a  new  animal.  We  have  had  beef,  mutton, 
and  chickens  until  I  'm  tired  of  the  sight  of 
them." 

It  was  after  this  opening  that  Theodora 
proposed  taking  charge  of  the  housekeeping 
until  Marie's  press  of  work  should  be  over. 


42  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Marie  gratefully  accepted  the  offer.  She  had 
always  disliked  housekeeping,  and  it  was  a  com- 
fort to  put  it  out  of  her  mind  for  a  few  weeks 
and  devote  herself  wholly  to  painting.  Theo- 
dora could  not  resist  making  a  few  changes  in 
the  ways  of  the  household.  Under  Mrs.  Da- 
vidson's management  there  had  been  lazy  com- 
fort, and  an  easy  elasticity  in  the  hours  of  the 
meals,  especially  in  the  morning,  when  the 
family  came  to  breakfast  late  or  early,  accord- 
ing to  their  vagrant  or  punctual  desires. 
There  was  a  profusion  of  food  at  one  time, 
with  little  variety  the  next  day,  and  a  careless- 
ness as  to  table  etiquette,  but  much  thought 
concerning  dainty  china  and  a  centre-piece  of 
flowers.  Theodora  could  recall  one  dinner  of 
bacon  and  eggs  and  baked  potatoes,  with  a 
dessert  of  canned  peaches  and  crackers,  an 
improvised  affair  that  occurred  on  Labor  Day, 
for  Marie  had  forgotten  that  a  holiday  was 
coming  and  had  neglected  to  lay  in  supplies. 
Some  Boston  friends  had  chanced  to  drop  in, 
and  Marie  had  urged  them  to  stay  to  lunch- 
eon, as  she  called  it,  with  charming  cordial- 
ity, feeling  happily  confident  that  what  the 
meal  lacked  in  solids  was  made  up  for  by  a 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  43 

graceful  bunch  of  goldenrod  and  asters  in  the 
centre  of  the  table. 

Under  Miss  Davidson's  supervision  the 
general  average  of  the  food  improved,  and  less 
money  was  spent  on  the  marketing.  The  ta- 
ble was  waited  upon  in  the  most  approved 
way,  not  that  Theodora  cared  a  straw  for 
fashion,  but  because  she  felt  that  order  and 
method  simplified  life.  In  the  West  she  had 
kept  house  and  taken  girls  to  board,  besides 
teaching,  and  she  therefore  had  a  practical 
knowledge  of  every  kind  of  work.  She  grad- 
ually brought  about  greater  promptness  at 
meals,  and  in  many  little  ways  she  made  her 
presence  felt.  She  loved  the  dear  old  house 
too  well  to  attempt  any  radical  changes  in  it, 
but  she  had  the  dilapidated  white  paint  cov- 
ered by  a  new  coating  of  white,  and  a  new 
fence  took  the  place  of  the  old  one  with  the 
broken  palings.  In  her  zeal  for  improvement 
she  even  attacked  the  family  lot  at  the  ceme- 
tery, which  for  some  years  had  been  left  en- 
tirely to  its  own  devices,  so  that  weeds  and  tall 
grass  disputed  possession  with  the  vines  and 
flowers. 

One    afternoon,  in    the  end  of    September, 


44  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Theodora  went  by  appointment  to  the  ceme- 
tery to  meet  the  gardener  who  was  to  renovate 
the  Davidson  lot.  He  was  late,  as  work- 
people always  were  in  Edgecomb,  but  she 
could  never  get  used  to  this  laxity  regarding 
time,  and  so  had  been  prompt  to  the  moment. 
Theodora  was  too  healthy-minded,  and  too  bent 
upon  the  practical  aspect  of  her  errand,  to  be 
saddened  or  greatly  impressed  by  her  sur- 
roundings ;  but  she  had  a  sensation  of  peace, 
and  she  took  a  physical  pleasure  in  the  soft 
stir  of  the  pine-scented  wind.  How  quiet  it 
was !  The  cemetery  seemed  worthy  of  its  name, 
"  a  sleeping-place."  It  was  on  the  brow  of  a 
little  hill  which  rose  in  its  soft  slope  of  grass 
above  the  narrow  country  road.  Tall  pines 
and  graceful  elms  and  maples  were  scattered 
about  within  the  friendly  inclosure,  keeping 
faithful  watch  above  the  silent  homes  of  the 
dead  in  the  quiet  "  white  village."  She 
looked  half  absently  at  the  inscription  on  the 
headstone  that  marked  her  father's  grave,  and 
wondered,  as  she  had  often  done  before,  why 
her  brother  had  not  called  his  son  Nathaniel 
Bradlee,  a  name  that  had  been  borne  with  dis- 
tinction not  only  by  their  father,  but  also  by 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  45 

their  grandfather  and  great-grandfather.  At 
last  she  grew  impatient,  for  fifteen  minutes 
had  passed  and  the  gardener  was  not  in  sight. 
She  began  to  pace  the  narrow  walk  restlessly, 
and  to  read  the  familiar  Edgecomb  names  on 
the  monuments,  in  as  friendly  neighborhood 
in  death  as  their  owners  had  been  in  life. 

"'Phillips,'  'Fraley,'  '  Reycroft,'  '  Comp- 
ton  ' '  —  she  paused.  There  was  only  one  green 
mound  in  that  lot  and  a  very  simple  headstone. 
She  read  the  inscription  on  its  white  surface  : 

Here  lies  Estelle, 

daughter  of 

David  Murray  and  Elizabeth  Gray, 

And  beloved  wife  of  Francis  Compton. 

Born  Sept.  27th,  18—.      Died  Dec.  25th,  18—. 

Aged  22  years,  2  months,  and  28  days. 

"  Poor  young  thing,"  Theodora  thought, 
with  a  rush  of  compassion ;  "  she  was  only 
twenty-two  years  old  when  she  died  !  " 

She  read  the  lines  over  again,  and  the 
word  "  beloved  "  jarred  upon  her,  for  she  did 
not  like  any  public  expression  of  feeling,  and 
yet  she  was  more  sorry  for  Francis  Comp- 
ton than  she  had  ever  been  before.  As  she 


46  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

thoughtfully  walked  back  to  her  own  lot,  she 
saw  a  dark  figure  in  the  distance  and  hastened 
forward,  expecting  to  greet  the  gardener,  but 
presently  she  recognized  Mr.  Compton.  His 
little  girl  was  with  him ;  she  had  hold  of  one 
of  his  hands,  and  he  carried  a  bunch  of  fringed 
gentians  in  the  other. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Davidson,"  he  said ; 
"  we  are  here,  it  seems,  on  similar  errands." 

"  I  have  come  to  see  that  our  family  lot  is 
put  in  thorough  order,"  she  returned,  vexed 
at  the  inappropriateness  of  her  words,  and  yet 
not  able  at  the  moment  to  think  of  anything 
else  to  say. 

"  It  is  my  wife's  birthday,"  he  said  simply, 
"  and  so  I  have  brought  these  flowers  here." 

There  was  in  his  tone  a  quiet  taking  for 
granted  of  her  comprehension  of  his  frame  of 
mind. 

An  unprecedented  shyness  seized  Theodora. 
"That  is  very  pleasant,"  she  said  vaguely. 
She  had  never  felt  so  hopelessly  out  of  her 
element. 

"It  is  not  pleasant;  it  is  very  sad,"  said 
Essie  in  her  shrill  treble. 

Theodora  had  not  heard   the   child    speak 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  47 

since  the  day  when  they  had  first  met,  and 
she  could  hardly  have  been  more  surprised 
if  a  voice  had  come  from  one  of  the  silent 
graves. 

She  could  not  help  smiling  as  she  looked 
down  into  the  defiant  dark  eyes.  Poor  Essie 
was  covered  with  confusion  as  soon  as  the 
words  were  uttered,  but  that  smile  added  the 
sting  of  an  insult  to  her  former  sense  of  in- 
jury- 
Theodora  was  not  sensitive  to  atmosphere, 

and  she  was  entirely  unconscious  of  the  hos- 
tility that  she  aroused  in  the  little  girl.  "  Of 
course  it  is  very  sad  that  your  mamma  has 
died,"  she  said  gently,  "  but  it  is  pleasant  that 
you  can  come  here  with  your  papa." 

"  I  try  to  come  here  every  week,"  Mr. 
Compton  stated.  "  It  seems  to  put  me  in  a 
better  frame  of  mind  for  writing  my  sermons." 

The  practical  Theodora  thought  that  his 
sermons  would  have  been  better  if  he  had 
found  his  inspiration  in  helping  the  living; 
and  yet  he  had  so  much  simplicity,  and  there 
was  such  a  boyish  frankness  about  him,  that 
she  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  criticise 
him  severely. 


48  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Mr.  Compton  went  on  to  his  own  lot  with 
his  little  girl,  and,  as  the  tardy  gardener  pres- 
ently made  his  appearance,  Theodora  was  at 
once  engrossed  in  the  business  of  the  hour. 
She  had  just  decided  to  have  a  certain  tree 
cut  down,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  Fran- 
cis Compton. 

"  That  little  hemlock  must  stay,"  he  said 
with  vivacity.  "  Your  brother  never  would 
forgive  you  if  you  had  it  cut  down." 

"  But  it  is  such  a  scrubby  little  hemlock," 
she  objected,  "  and  it  makes  too  much  shade." 

"  It  makes  the  charm  of  the  whole  place. 
Miss  Davidson,  I  shall  never  like  you  any 
more,  I  shall  think  you  an  objectionable  Phil- 
istine, if  you  have  that  tree  cut  down." 

"  I  don't  like  ugly  little  trees,"  she  said, 
half  inclined  to  prove  that  she  always  had  her 
own  way  by  giving  the  obnoxious  order  at 
once,  and  half  won  over  by  his  words. 

"  But  this  is  a  beautiful,  artistic  little  tree," 
he  protested ;  "  and  you  certainly  must  like 
robins,  whatever  you  think  of  hemlocks. 
There  is  a  robin  that  builds  its  nest  there 
every  year,  and  Essie  and  I  take  such  pleasure 
in  watching  the  young  families.  At  least 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  49 

wait  until  you  have  consulted  your  brother," 
he  entreated,  as  she  still  hesitated. 

"  Very  well,  I  will  wait." 

He  lingered  to  make  sure  that  she  did  not 
commit  any  other  atrocities,  but  soon  found 
that  her  taste  for  the  most  part  was  excellent. 
She  loved  all  beautiful  things,  and  she  even 
let  association  glorify  some  ugly  things,  but 
she  did  not  allow  for  other  people's  associa- 
tions ;  the  little  hemlock-tree  had  not  been  in 
the  lot  when  she  was  a  girl. 

Mr.  Compton  waited  to  walk  home  with 
her,  in  spite  of  some  whispered  remarks  from 
his  daughter. 

"  It  is  odd  that  Gray  should  have  left  the 
best  verse  out  of  his  elegy,"  he  said  as  they 
turned  towards  home. 

"  You  mean  the  one  about  the  robins  ? 
Please  say  it ;  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"  '  There  scattered  oft  the  earliest  of  the  year, 
By  hands  unseen,  are  showers  of  violets  found. 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground.'  " 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  she  assented,  "  but  it  has 
less  thought  in  it  than  the  other  verses." 

"  Miss   Davidson,  do   you   believe  in  '  the 


50  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

village  Hampden  '  and  in  '  the  mute,  inglori- 
ous Milton  '  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  most  emphatically,  for  we  are  all 
given  a  chance  to  show  what  is  in  us,  and  if 
we  have  grit  enough  we  are  sure  to  succeed. 
Genius  implies  grit,  and  therefore  genius  can- 
not be  extinguished  by  any  obstacles.  A 
Milton  can  never  be  mute." 

"  You  care  a  great  deal  for  visible  achieve- 
ment," he  said.  He  and  Theodora  had  grown 
to  be  very  good  friends  in  these  autumn  weeks, 
and  he  had  a  habit,  when  with  her,  of  saying 
whatever  lay  below  the  surface  of  his  thought. 
"  I  am  not  judging  merely  by  what  you  say 
now,"  he  went  on,  "  but  I  have  often  noticed 
that  you  underrate  those  people  who  to  outward 
seeming  have  not  succeeded,  whereas  personal 
influence  is  such  a  subtle  thing  that  failure 
cannot  be  judged  by  tangible  tests  alone. 
Your  brother,  for  instance,  has  not  done 
much  in  the  way  of  actual  work,  but  I  don't 
know  any  one  who  is  more  of  a  help  to  others, 
with  his  cheery  sympathy  and  his  "  — 

"  My  brother  will  accomplish  great  things 
some  day,"  she  broke  in.  "  One  of  my  chief 
reasons  for  being  glad  to  live  with  him  is  that 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  51 

I  hope  to  rouse  him  to  a  sense  of  responsibil- 
ity about  his  unusual  talents.  He  loves  ease 
too  much.  I  would  not  say  this  to  any  one 
but  you." 

He  was  silent,  and  Theodora  presently 
turned  the  conversation  into  another  channel. 
When  they  reached  the  parsonage  he  told 
Essie  to  run  in  to  her  nurse.  She  gave  an 
angry  glance  at  Miss  Davidson  and  whispered 
something  to  her  father. 

"  Go  in  like  a  good  little  girl,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  a  parishioner  I  ought  to  see  at  the  other 
end  of  the  town,  so  I  will  walk  home  with 
Miss  Davidson,  but  I  will  get  back  before  you 
have  y6ur  tea." 

"You  must  have  had  an  unusually  fortu- 
nate life,"  he  began,  as  they  walked  on  to- 
gether, "  for  otherwise  you  would  have  more 
charity  for  '  the  inglorious  Miltons.'  You 
cannot  understand  how  hard  it  is  to  accom- 
plish anything  if  one  has  an  indolent  or  a 
self-distrustful  temperament,  or  if  one  has  had 
a  crushing  blow." 

"Can't  I?" 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that  made 
him  say  hastily,  — 


52  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"You  need  not  beg  my  pardon.  If  it  in- 
terests you  to  know  it,  I  am  willing  to  own 
that  any  success  I  have  attained  has  been  won 
in  spite  of  a  blow  that  almost  crushed  the 
youth  out  of  me  when  I  was  a  girl." 

His  face  instantly  grew  sympathetic.  "  I 
am  so  sorry,"  he  said  heartily. 

"  I  am  very  happy  now,"  she  added  quickly. 

"  So  it  has  all  come  out  right  ?  I  am  glad 
of  that." 

"  I  thought  you  understood  to  what  I  al- 
luded. I  thought  everybody  knew  what  a 
great  trial  our  father's  second  marriage  was 
to  Edward  and  me." 

"  Edward  always  gave  me  the  impression 
that  his  step-mother  was  rather  a  fascinating 
woman,"  he  said  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Fascinating !  Perhaps  she  was  fascinating 
to  men,  but  she  was  —  Never  mind  her,  we 
will  talk  of  something  pleasanter." 

"  She  was  not  much  older  than  Edward,  I 
believe?" 

"No.  She  was  twenty-one  when  my  fa- 
ther married  her,  and  I  was  sixteen.  I  hated 
her  from  the  very  beginning !  "  she  cried  pas- 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  53 

sionately.  "  I  hated  the  way  in  which  she 
flirted  with  Edward,  but  I  never  dreamed  for 
a  moment  that  she  was  bent  upon  captivating 
my  father." 

As  Theodora  went  on  with  her  tale  she 
grew  eloquent  over  the  recapitulation  of  her 
wrongs.  The  girl  whom  her  father  married 
was  her  music-teacher,  Edith  Mortimer  by 
name,  a  pretty  little  thing,  with  a  pair  of  ap- 
pealing dark  eyes  and  some  very  fascinating 
dimples.  She  was,  according  to  Theodora,  a 
young  woman  whose  bright  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  main  chance,  and  she  was  only  too  willing 
to  exchange  a  very  humble  home  for  the  roof 
of  the  elderly  but  rich  widower. 

There  were  some  things  that  Theodora 
could  not  tell  in  detail,  which  in  fact  she  tried 
not  to  remember.  There  had  been  a  bitter 
scene  when  Mr.  Davidson  had  called  his 
daughter  to  him  and  told  her  that  he  was 
going  to  marry  Edith  Mortimer.  Theodora, 
who  was  white  and  trembling,  had  said  pite- 
ously  that  she  knew  it  could  not  be  true,  and 
then  he  had  replied  very  gently  that  he  had 
thought  his  daughter  would  enjoy  having  a 
companion. 


54  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Theodora,  dumb  with  anger,  had  scornfully 
fixed  her  eyes  on  her  father.  It  was  hard 
enough  to  admit  that  he  wanted  to  marry 
again,  but  she  despised  him  for  taking  shelter 
behind  such  a  falsehood. 

"  That  is  not  true,"  she  said  when  she 
found  her  voice.  "You  know  that  I  hate 
her.  She  is  a  scheming,  cold-hearted  wo- 
man." 

The  two  had  stood  facing  each  other  angrily, 
curiously  alike  in  feature  and  in  dogged  deter- 
mination. At  last  he  said,  "Theodora,  you 
must  unsay  those  words.  She  is  a  lovely  wo- 
man, and  I  want  you  to  be  kind  to  her,  as  she 
is  to  be  your  mother. 

"  My  mother  !  "  she  started  at  the  word. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  advantage  for  you  to 
have  some  one  to  take  the  care  of  the  house," 
he  continued,  reverting  to  commonplaces. 

"Have  I  not' kept  house  well,  father?" 
she  asked.  "  I  will  try  so  hard  to  please  you ; 
I  will  give  up  going  to  college  ;  I  will  live  with 
you  always.  Father,  if  you  will  only  give  up 
this  marriage  I  will  do  anything,  everything. 
How  can  you  marry  that  woman,  whom  I 
hate,  when  you  think  of  my  mother  ?  How 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  55 

can  you  marry  her  ?  Give  it  up,  father,  for 
my  sake,"  she  entreated  ;  "  oh,  give  it  up." 

The  answer  came  with  quick  decision,  "  I 
cannot,  my  word  is  pledged." 

Then  Theodora,  after  more  vain  pleading, 
told  her  father  that  he  must  choose  between 
Edith  Mortimer  and  herself.  If  he  married 
she  should  go  away  from  home  at  once,  and 
never  live  under  his  roof  again. 

He  had  replied  sternly,  "  Very  well,  Theo- 
dora." 

The  memory  of  those  days  was  so  painful 
that,  even  in  going  over  the  bare  facts,  her 
face  grew  hard  and  rigid.  She  told  of  her 
abrupt  departure  from  home  the  very  next 
day,  after  a  scene  with  her  brother,  who  tried 
to  shake  her  determination. 

"  Edward  was  almost  as  much  troubled  as 
I  was,"  she  said.  "  But  he  is  made  of  differ- 
ent stuff.  He  always  wants  to  compromise ; 
and  when  he  found  father  was  determined  to 
carry  out  his  pui^pose,  he  adapted  himself,  as 
well  as  he  could,  to  the  new  conditions.  Pie 
was  in  college  then,  and  was  only  at  home  on 
his  vacations." 

"  And  you  went  at  once  to  college  ?  " 


56  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  never  forgive  your  father  ?  Did 
you  never  come  home  ?  " 

"  No.     How  could  I  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  hard  position,  certainly,  but  I 
think  you  were  wrong." 

'•  Wrong  ?  "  she  repeated.  His  manner  was 
so  courteous,  and  his  voice  so  gentle,  that  she 
felt  she  had  not  heard  aright. 

"Yes,  wrong.  I  think  you  ought  to  have 
come  home  in  the  vacations  and  made  the  best 
of  things." 

'•  With  that  woman  sitting  in  my  mother's 
place?" 

"Yes." 

"  Why  do  you  think  I  was  wrong  ?  " 

"  Because  your  father  had  a  right  to  marry 
again  if  he  chose." 

"  It  seemed  so  unnatural  that  he  should  for- 
get my  lovely,  saintly  mother  in  three  years, 
and  marry  that  little  creature,  who  was  a  bit 
of  tinsel  instead  of  pure  gold.  How  could  he 
love  her?  How  could  he  love  any  one  again?" 

"That  is  hard  for  me  to  understand,"  he 
admitted.  "When  a  marriage  has  been  a 
true  one,  I  cannot  understand  how  a  man  can 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  57 

love  twice.  I  can  understand  his  marrying 
again,  if  he  is  lonely,  or  for  the  sake  of  his 
children.  And  yet  it  happens  frequently." 

"But  one  does  not  expect  one's  father  to 
be  an  average  man.  One  expects  him  to  be 
constant  and  fine." 

"You  are  too  hard  upon  him.  He  must 
have  suffered  very  much  in  being  separated 
from  you,"  he  suggested  presently. 

"  It  was  his  own  choice." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  was  your  choice  ; 
a  choice  that  you  forced  on  him.  And  you 
never  saw  him  again  ?  " 

"  No.  They  left  Edgecomb  some  years  be- 
fore his  death.  When  he  was  dying  she  sent 
for  me,  but  she  sent  too  late."  Her  voice 
sank  at  the  words. 

"  It  was  a  tragedy.  No  wonder  that  you 
resented  my  supposing  that  you  had  never  suf- 
fered. I  am  far  more  sorry  for  you  than  I 
seem  to  be  ;  I  did  not  mean  to  be  unsympa- 
thetic, but  I  could  not  help  saying  that  I 
thought  you  in  the  wrong.  Will  you  forgive 
my  plain  speaking  ?  " 

Theodora  fixed  her  clear  eyes  upon  him. 
"I  will  forgive  anything  but  an  untruth.  If 


58  THE  CONING   OF  THEODORA. 

you  had  let  me  think  that  you  approved  of 
what  I  did,  while  in  reality  you  were  con- 
demning me,  I  should  not  have  forgiven  you." 

"  You  are  exacting.  Do  you  always  demand 
the  whole  truth  from  your  friends?" 

"  Yes." 

"You  give  it  in  return,"  and  a  smile  played 
about  his  lips  at  the  recollection  of  some  of 
her  remarks.  "  By  the  way,  I  am  going  to 
preach  another  sermon  with  extracts  of  Emer- 
son in  it,  which  I  hope  you  will  like." 

She  had  not  sufficient  pliability  to  turn 
easily  from  her  tragic  memories  to  another 
subject,  and  besides  she  took  him  seriously. 

"  You  care  too  much  whether  you  please 
people  with  your  sermons  or  not,"  she  said 
bluntly.  "  It  is  very  natural ;  indeed,  I  con- 
sider you  quite  humble  when  I  remember  that 
you  are  the  centre  of  interest  in  a  small  New 
England  town,"  she  added  with  a  smile.  "  I 
suppose  in  this  quiet  little  place  it  must  be 
hard  not  to  get  absorbed  in  the  details  of  your 
profession,  —  weddings,  and  funerals,  and  ser- 
mons, and  parish  calls." 

He  laughed  outright.  "  Really,  Miss  David- 
son, sermons,  and  weddings,  and  funerals,  and 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  59 

parish  calls  may  be  insignificant  trifles,  but 
if  you  leave  these  '  details,'  as  you  call  them, 
out  of  a  minister's  life,  there  is  n't  much  left." 

She  was  vexed  by  his  manner.  "  I  only 
meant  that  if  you  were  burning  with  the  mes- 
sage you  had  to  give,  you  would  have  no  time 
to  worry  over  the  way  in  which  it  was  given ; 
and  if  your  heart  were  sufficiently  in  the 
parish  calls,  it  would  be  no  effort  to  make 
them." 

Theodora  always  had  a  ready-made  judg- 
ment about  everything  and  everybody,  but, 
like  other  ready-made  articles,  it  did  not  al- 
ways fit.  In  the  present  case  she  was  far 
from  having  taken  the  correct  measure  of  her 
companion.  He  had  too  little  vanity  or  too 
much  humor  to  be  hurt  by  her  words,  and 
bade  her  good-by  at  her  gate  in  a  friendly 
spirit. 

"Mrs.  Underwood  is  really  very  ill,"  he 
said  with  a  smile ;  "  so  I  trust  you  will  approve 
of  my  going  to  see  her." 

She  had  recovered  her  poise  and  smiled 
back  at  him.  "  It  was  abominably  rude  of  me 
to  criticise  you  as  I  did.  I  am  very  sorry, 
but  thinking  about  that  terrible  part  of  my 


60  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

life  completely  upset  me.     Will  you  forgive 
me?" 

"  The  only  thing  I  can  never  forgive  in 
my  friends  is  lack  of  truth,"  he  quoted  mis- 
chievously. "  If  you  had  made  me  think 
you  approved  of  me,  while  in  reality  you 
were  condemning  me,  I  could  not  have  for- 
given you." 


V. 

IN  October  Theodora  achieved  a  triumph. 
After  Mrs.  Shimmin's  portrait  was  finished 
she  induced  Marie  and  Edward  to  go  on  a 
driving-journey  through  Berkshire,  while  she 
contentedly  stayed  at  home  to  take  care  of  the 
children.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  have  these 
curly-headed,  engaging  little  beings  entirely 
dependent  upon  her.  She  devoutly  wished 
that  the  younger  ones  were  not  called  by  such 
fancy  names  as  Gladys  and  Guy.  She  was 
sure  that  it  was  her  sister-in-law's  taste  ;  and, 
after  all,  what  else  could  be  expected  from  a 
woman  whose  parents  had  set  the  example  by 
calling  her  Marie?  Even  Theodora's  own 
namesake  had  her  good,  old-fashioned  name 
contracted  to  Dora,  which  had  a  weak  sound. 
However,  the  children  did  not  seem  at  all 
repressed  by  their  appellations,  but  were  as 
mischievous,  and  had  as  constant  a  tendency 
to  soil  their  pinafores,  as  if  they  had  been 
plain  Mary  and  John. 


62  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

During  the  absence  of  her  brother  and  his 
wife,  Theodora,  among  other  things,  found 
time  to  rearrange  and  clean  the  studio  thor- 
oughly, as  well  as  to  look  over  some  family 
letters  that  had  been  stored  in  the  barn  ever 
since  the  days  of  her  grandfather.  She  also 
turned  a  little  storeroom  upstairs  into  a  com- 
fortable den  for  Edward.  Everything  was  in 
readiness  before  the  end  of  the  fortnight,  and 
she  awaited  the  return  of  the  travelers  with 
impatience. 

They  came  back  in  excellent  spirits.  The 
weather  had  been  perfect,  they  had  met  charm- 
ing people,  and  the  trip  had  been  in  every  way 
a  great  success. 

"  And  we  could  n't  have  taken  it,  dear  Theo- 
dora, if  it  had  n't  been  for  you,"  said  Marie 
gratefully. 

"  It  was  only  a  pleasure  to  stay  here,"  Theo- 
dora returned.  "  And  now  I  want  you  to 
come  into  the  studio  and  see  what  I  have  done 
there,"  she  added  proudly. 

"  You  have  n't  done  anything  to  the  studio ! " 
said  Edward  in  consternation.  "  Efficient  be- 
ing !  was  n't  it  enough  for  you  to  have  the 
house  painted,  the  buggy  renovated,  and  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  63 

barn  altered  ?  Was  n't  it  enough  to  spruce 
up  the  resting-place  of  the  dead  Davidsons 
without  sprucing  up  the  working-place  of  their 
descendants  ?  " 

"  Come  and  see  for  yourself  what  I  have 
done,"  said  Theodora  with  a  smile.  "You 
know  you  always  approve  of  my  alterations 
after  you  are  used  to  them." 

She  opened  the  door  into  the  studio  as  she 
spoke.  At  the  first  glance  Edward  saw  that 
it  had  wholly  changed  its  character.  It  was 
a  prim  room  now,  exquisitely  neat,  charming 
in  a  way,  for  Theodora  had  good  taste,  with  a 
certain  flavor  of  quaintness  about  it ;  a  room, 
in  short,  which  seemed  the  fitting  shrine  for 
some  dainty  maiden  lady,  some  Miss  Davidson 
of  bygone  times,  but  not  a  comfortable  work- 
ing-place for  a  poor,  average,  clumsy  man  and 
his  busy  wife. 

"  Well,  you  've  done  it  now,  Theodora,"  he 
said. 

"  Done  what  ?  Don't  you  think  it  is  pretty  ?  " 
she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Adorably,  deliciously  pretty.  I  was  merely 
admiring  your  taste." 

"  You  see  that  I  have  taken  away  those  dull- 


64  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

blue  hangings,"  she  went  on.  "  They  were 
charming-  in  color,  but  they  were  too  faded  and 
spotted  to  stay  up  any  longer ;  and  I  hope  you 
like  the  dotted-muslin  window-curtains  that  I 
have  substituted  for  them.  I  made  them  my- 
self." 

"  Have  you  burned  up  the  hangings  ?  "  Ed- 
ward inquired  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  have  made  two  lovely  cushions 
out  of  the  best  part  of  them.  You  can  see 
them  over  there  in  the  window  ;  and  was  n't  it 
wonderful  that  I  was  able  to  match  them  so 
well  in  the  new  covers  for  the  cushions  on  the 
window-seats  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  given  a  great  deal  if  you 
had  found  it  convenient  to  save  those  hangings 
intact,"  said  Edward.  "They  were  full  of 
associations." 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear,  but  I  did  n't  see  the  as- 
sociations and  I  did  see  the  spots  ;  and,  be- 
sides, now  you  will  have  the  added  association 
that  your  sister  made  them  into  cushions.  I 
could  n't  remember  just  how  the  things  went 
before,  and  I  have  tried  to  arrange  them  with 
a  little  more  system.  You  see  I  have  had 
that  chest  of  drawers  brought  down  from  the 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.  65 

spare  room,  so  that  all  the  odds  and  ends  can 
be  put  in  it.  Do  you  see  how  exactly  I  have 
matched  the  cushions  in  getting  the  ribbon  to 
tie  back  the  curtains  ?  And  I  hope  you  like 
the  new  paper  ?  I  got  plain  gray  cartridge- 
paper,  because  I  supposed,  from  your  having  it 
tacked  up  in  part  of  the  room,  that  you  pre- 
ferred it  to  anything  else." 

"  That  was  very  thoughtful  of  you,"  said 
Marie  with  an  effort.  "  And  what  a  pretty 
rug !  Where  did  that  come  from  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  present  from  me.  Mrs.  Shim- 
min  and  I  chose  it  together." 

How  could  these  sweet-tempered  young 
people,  with  an  almost  abnormal  dislike  to 
hurting  the  feelings  of  their  friends,  do  any- 
thing but  praise  her  work?  And  yet, when 
they  were  left  together  in  the  studio  while 
Theodora  went  to  see  about  tea,  Edward 
groaned  :  "  It 's  awfully  pretty,  but  we  shall 
never  dare  to  make  a  mess  here  again.  How 
could  she  have  the  floor  shellacked?  And, 
Heaven  help  us !  does  she  think  the  one  object 
of  a  studio  is  to  have  its  properties  put  neatly 
away?"  , 

"  The  rug  is  lovely,  and  so  are  the  new  win- 


66  THE   COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

dow-cushions  ;  I  am  very  glad  to  have  them ; 
but,  oh,  Edward !  I  had  dreamed  of  a  dull-red 
wall-paper." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  dear,  and  so  had  I." 

"  But  think  how  much  worse  it  might  have 
been  !  "  Marie  suggested  cheerfully.  "  She 
might  have  put  on  a  dull-blue  paper,  —  that 
seems  to  be  her  favorite  color,  —  and  then  we 
could  not  have  worked  here  at  all." 

"  No,  she  could  n't  have  done  that,  for  that 
would  have  been  downright  stupid,  and  Theo- 
dora is  n't  stupid." 

"How  I  hate  those  dotted-muslin  window- 
curtains  !  "  said  poor  Marie  ;  "  but  it  is  a  mercy 
she  did  n't  put  them  at  the  north  window. 
Oh,  dear!  I  shall  feel  homesick  here,  and  I 
can't  paint  in  a  room  where  I  don't  feel  at 
home ;  but  the  rug  is  lovely,  and  her  inten- 
tions were  so  good." 

"That's  just  the  trouble,"  said  Edward. 

"  Hush !  she  is  coming." 

"You  really  like  it,  don't  you?  "  Theodora 
asked  anxiously.  "  Of  course  you  can  change 
things  about  as  much  as  you  please,  if  I  have 
'  spruced  up,'  as  you  call  it,  too  much." 

"  It 's  awfully  kind  of  you  to  permit  that," 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODOBA.  67 

Edward  observed ;  then,  as  her  face  fell,  he 
added  quickly  :  "Of  course  we  shall  like  it, 
only  —  only  —  I  shall  never  dare  to  smoke 
among  all  these  dainty  things." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,"  Theodora  assented 
promptly,  "  for  I  have  noticed  that  when  you 
smoke,  the  dining-room  is  permeated  with  the 
odor,  for  it  goes  through  the  cracks  of  the 
folding-doors  ;  so  I  have  arranged  a  charming 
den  for  you  upstairs,  a  real  man's  den,  without 
a  pretty  thing  in  it ;  and  I  have  had  the  old 
desk  moved  down  from  the  attic ;  and  I  have 
sorted  out  the  most  valuable  letters  from  one 
of  the  barrels  in  the  barn,  and  have  burned 
up  the  others,  and  I  am  going  to  get  you  to 
help  me  with  the  rest  of  them,  and  when  we 
have  sorted  them  all  "  — 

"  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still  for  busy 
hands  to  do,"  quoted  Edward.  "  Theodora,  I 
wish  you  had  n't  burned  any  of  those  letters ; 
you  know  I  have  always  meant  to  write  a  life 
of  our  great-grandfather  some  time." 

"  But  you  never  would  have  had  the  pa- 
tience to  look  through  the  letters,  and  now,  as 
soon  as  you  and  I  have  sorted  the  rest  of 
them,  you  can  begin  on  the  life  at  once." 


68  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Unfortunately  Edward  Davidson  strongly 
objected  to  beginning  any  work  at  once.  He 
liked  to  have  a  number  of  projects  in  his 
future  horizon, — castles  in  the  air,  that  he 
could  build  in  any  style  of  architecture  he 
pleased,  provided  he  was  not  obliged  to  per- 
petuate them  in  the  substantial  form  which 
achievement  implies.  He  saw  a  dreary  series 
of  probabilities  stretching  out  before  him. 

"  Theo,"  he  asked,  "  are  all  the  women  in 
the  West  as  energetic  as  you  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  deal  more  so." 

"  The  East  is  good  enough  for  me,"  he 
murmured. 

After  tea  Mr.  Compton  dropped  in  to  greet 
the  travelers,  and  was  shown  into  the  studio, 
where  the  family  had  assembled. 

"  You  see,  Frank,  that  we  are  thoroughly 
reconstructed,"  Edward  remarked,  after  they 
had  gone  through  with  the  first  greetings." 

"  How  charming  the  room  is !  "  said  Frank. 
"  I  am  so  unobserving  that  at  first  I  did  n't 
notice  the  new  curtains  and  wall-paper,  al- 
though I  saw  that  there  was  less  of  a  —  fewer 
things  around." 

"  It  is  Theodora  who  has  transformed  us." 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.  69 

"  I  guessed  as  much." 

He  gave  her  a  quick  glance  of  approval 
that  irritated  both  Marie  and  Edward,  who 
considered  it  a  mark  of  Philistinism  to  put 
primness  and  spotless  neatness  above  charm 
and  comfort. 

However,  Francis  Compton  was  in  a  mood 
to  appreciate  to  the  utmost  the  immaculate 
perfection  of  this  room,  for  he  was  fresh  from 
an  encounter  with  an  untidy  housemaid.  He 
had  a  feminine  love  of  beauty  and  neatness, 
joined  to  a  masculine  ignorance  as  to  the  best 
means  of  obtaining  them.  His  sister  had 
kept  house  for  him  until  she  was  married,  but 
for  the  past  two  years  he  had  passed  through 
a  series  of  domestic  misfortunes. 

"  How  I  envy  you  people  !  "  he  said  with  a 
little  sigh.  "  I  have  had  chaos  at  my  house 
all  the  week.  My  study  is  either  so  dusty 
that  I  can't  stay  in  it,  or  else  they  are  sweep- 
ing it  when  I  want  to  write  my  sermon  ;  and 
as  for  the  cook  —  Mrs.  Davidson,"  he  asked 
in  appealing  tones,  "can  you  please  tell  me 
how  to  prevent  grease  from  coming  on  the  top 
of  soup?" 

"  I  should   think  that  was  a  very  simple 


70  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

matter,"  said  Ned.  "I  should  give  up  soup 
altogether,  Fanny,  my  love."  "  Fanny"  was 
his  favorite  nickname  for  his  friend  when  he 
was  absorbed  in  these  household  details. 

Theodora  came  to  the  rescue,  and  discussed 
cooking  with  their  guest  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent, greatly  to  the  amusement  of  her  brother. 

"  What  should  you  do,  Ned,"  Mr.  Comp- 
ton  inquired  at  last,  "  if  you  had  a  housekeeper 
who  would  never  give  you  your  breakfast  until 
half  past  eight?" 

"  I  should  fall  down  and  kiss  the  hem  of 
her  garment.  I  have  one  who  insists  upon 
giving  me  mine  at  half  past  seven.  Suppose 
we  change  housekeepers  ? "  he  added  airily, 
but  a  furious  blush  on  Frank's  part,  and  an 
indignant  glance  from  Theodora,  warned  him 
that  he  had  gone  too  far.  "  On  the  whole,  I 
could  n't  give  mine  up,"  he  added ;  "  and 
besides,  she  has  promised  to  live  with  me 
always." 

Marie  had  already  begun  to  have  moments 
of  regretting  that  this  was  the  case.  She 
hardly  dared  to  breathe  the  thought,  even  to 
herself,  Theodora  was  so  good,  and  such  a 
prop  in  the  household ;  yet  she  could  not  help 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODOBA.  71 

an  occasional  bitter  twinge  of  jealousy  when 
she  acknowledged  the  superiority  of  her  sister- 
in-law's  management.  Marie  had  been  as 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  housekeeping  as  Henry 
the  Second  was  to  be  delivered  from  Thomas 
a  Becket,  only  to  find,  when  it  was  too  late, 
like  the  remorseful  king,  that  she  would  give 
worlds  to  recall  her  hasty  words.  Of  course 
it  would  have  been  an  easy  matter  to  resume 
the  housekeeping,  now  that  she  had  returned 
rested  and  refreshed  from  Berkshire ;  but 
Marie  dreaded  the  disapproval  of  the  ser- 
vants, who  so  evidently  preferred  their  new 
mistress,  and  a  sense  of  her  own  incompetency 
weighed  her  down.  It  did  not  occur  to  Theo- 
dora to  offer  to  relinquish  the  care  of  the 
house,  when  Marie  had  seemed  so  delighted  at 
the  thought  of  giving  it  up  ;  she  was  waiting 
for  some  suggestion  from  her. 

Marie  was  ill  and  wretchedly  out  of  spirits 
during  the  early  part  of  the  winter,  and  her 
sense  of  incapacity  and  uselessness  increased, 
for  she  had  to  give  up  her  painting,  which  in 
these  days  was  all  that  kept  alive  her  self- 
respect.  She  was  extremely  reserved,  and  did 
not  open  her  heart,  even  to  Edward,  whose 


72  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

pleasure  in  his  sister's  society  she  would  not 
spoil.  She  still  loved  Theodora,  but  her  illu- 
sions concerning  her  were  dispelled,  and  she 
had  consequently  a  sense  of  irremediable  loss 
and  disappointment,  which  seemed,  for  the 
moment,  to  leave  little  behind  it.  Where  had 
it  all  gone?  Marie  asked  herself  piteously 
before  the  winter  was  over,  —  her  passionate 
delight  in  her  sister-in-law's  mere  physical 
presence,  in  her  tall,  straight  figure,  and  her 
frank,  blue  eyes  and  smooth,  brown  hair  ? 
There  was  a  time  when  she  had  taken  a  keen 
enjoyment  in  the  tones  of  her  cheerful  voice, 
and  now  none  of  these  things  quickened  her 
pulses ;  on  the  contrary,  she  was  cold  and 
apathetic  when  Theodora  appeared,  and  some- 
times —  she  felt  ashamed  that  it  should  be  so 
—  sometimes  her  sister-in-law's  very  attractions 
aroused  in  her  a  feeling  of  antagonism.  She 
had  idealized  her  in  the  beginning,  and  now 
she  was  paying  the  penalty,  and  underestimat- 
ing her  to  make  the  balance  even. 


VI.     . 

IN  February  the  Davidson  children  were 
made  happy  by  the  arrival  of  a  little  brother. 
They  had  been  spending  the  day  with  Essie 
Compton,  and  when  they  came  home  in  the 
afternoon  they  were  greeted  with  the  good 
news.  They  were  allowed  to  go  upstairs  to 
the  dressing-room,  that  opened  out  of  their 
mother's  room,  and  there  they  saw  a  small 
bundle  of  blankets  in  the  nurse's  arms.  A 
very  red,  wrinkled  little  face  peered  out  of  the 
wraps. 

The  children  looked  at  the  baby  in  silence 
for  a  moment. 

"He  isn't  very  pretty,  is  he,  Aunt  Theo- 
dora ?  "  observed  Dora  at  last. 

"  I  wish  he  had  come  in  a  larger  size,"  said 
poor  Guy,  who  had  been  hoping  for  a  brother 
old  enough  for  a  playfellow. 

"  He  will  grow  very  fast,"  said  Dora,  with 
the  wisdom  of  six. 

"  But  I  want  him  in  a  larger  size  right  off 
now." 


74  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"What's  his  name,  Aunt  Theodora?" 
asked  Gladys. 

"  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidson." 

"  Do  you  think  that  is  a  very  pretty  name, 
Aunt  Theodora?"  Gladys  ventured.  She 
had  inherited  her  mother's  desire  to  please. 

"  I  am  fond  of  it,  because  my  great-grand- 
father—  he  is  your  great-great-grandfather, 
children  —  was  named  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Da- 
vidson, and  so  was  his  son,  and  so  was  my 
father,  and  consequently  it  seems  the  best 
name  in  the  world  to  me." 

Theodora  took  the  small  bundle  from  the 
nurse's  arms  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  tender- 
ness. 

"  You  dear  little  thing ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  am  so  glad  there  is  to  be  another  Nathaniel 
Bradlee  Davidson.  The  first  one  was  a  gen- 
eral in  the  Revolutionary  War,  and  my  grand- 
father was  a  doctor,  and  your  grandfather  was 
a  judge.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  come 
of  a  long  line  of  God-fearing  and  law-abiding 
ancestors,  children,  and  we  ought  all  of  us  to 
be  ashamed  of  ourselves  if  we  do  not  accom- 
plish some  useful  work  in  the  world." 

"  I  mean  to  be  a  stable-keeper  when  I  grow 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  75 

up,"  said  Guy,  "  and  then  I  can  drive  horses 
all  the  time." 

"  Be  sure  you  give  your  aunt  a  very  high 
horse  to  ride,"  said  their  father,  who  had  come 
into  the  room  unobserved  by  his  sister. 

Theodora  smiled.  Edward  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  gentle,  tender,  and  feminine.  He 
recognized  new  possibilities  in  her  as  she  bent 
her  proud  head  to  look  into  the  tiny  face  that 
lay  against  her  arm. 

"  See  his  little  foot,  Edward,"  and  she  pulled 
back  the  blue-and-white  blanket.  "  Did  you 
ever  see  anything  so  small  and  yet  so  perfect  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  seen  three  other  pairs  equally 
small  and  perfect." 

The  little  pink  foot  lay  quiet  in  her  strong 
hand.  "  Think  how  soon  this  tiny,  tiny  foot 
will  have  outstripped  mine,"  she  mused,  "  and 
Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidson  will  have  grown 
into  a  man,  taking  his  part  in  the  world, 
and  mercilessly  ordering  his  Aunt  Theodora 
about !  " 

She  already  had  a  sense  of  possession  in 
this  small  nephew  which  she  did  not  feel  with 
the  other  children,  for  was  he  not  to  be  her 
especial  charge  from  the  very  first?  And 


76  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

was  he  not  to  bear  the  honorable  family 
name  ?  Edward  had  consented  to  his  being 
called  Nathaniel  Bradlee,  to  Theodora's  great 
delight. 

Poor  Marie,  meanwhile,  was  so  frail  and  ill 
that  she  could  no  longer  control  her  jealousy. 
During  the  weeks  which  she  spent  upstairs 
Theodora  naturally  became  more  and  more 
prominently  the  head  of  the  household.  As 
Marie  heard  her  giving  orders  to  the  ser- 
vants, in  her  pleasant,  even  voice,  she  felt  sure 
that  they  would  never  consent  to  be  ruled  by 
her  again.  She  fancied  she  detected  a  pity- 
ing glance  from  Sarah,  the  housemaid,  that 
seemed  to  say,  "  Poor  thing,  what  a  weak  and 
inadequate  mistress  she  is  when  compared 
with  the  energetic  Miss  Theodora !  "  All 
well-trained  domestics  liked  Miss  Davidson, 
for  she  planned  their  work  with  system,  and 
was  indulgent  to  the  conscientious.  The 
inefficient  nursery-maid,  on  the  contrary,  had 
shown  a  marked  dislike  to  her  ;  but  Theodora 
had  sent  her  away,  and  had  filled  her  place 
with  an  exemplary  Scotchwoman,  who  believed 
in  bringing  up  children  by  strict  rule.  Even 
the  children  always  appealed  now  either  to 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  77 

Elizabeth,  their  new  nurse,  or  to  their  Aunt 
Theodora. 

One  morning  Gladys  asked  her  mother  if 
she  might  eat  some  candy  that  she  had 
brought  home  with  her  from  a  children's 
party  the  night  before  ;  and  when  she  was  told 
that  she  could  have  two  pieces,  Dora  said 
severely,  "  Gladys,  you  are  a  naughty  girl ; 
Aunt  Theodora  told  you  that  you  must  n't  eat 
the  candy.  Aunt  Theodora  is  our  mamma 
now  that  mamma  is  sick." 

Marie  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  shed 
bitter  tears  ;  then  she  drew  her  baby  close  to 
her  and  gave  him  a  passionate  embrace. 

"  She  shall  not  come  between  us,  you  dear 
little  thing,"  she  thought,  "  even  if  she  does 
supplant  me  in  the  affections  of  the  older 
children." 

When  Theodora  entered  the  room  a  little 
later,  she  was  surprised  to  see  that  her  sister- 
in-law's  cheeks  were  flushed. 

"  I  must  take  the  children  away ;  I  am 
afraid  they  are  disturbing  you,"  she  said. 

"  Please  leave  them ;  they  are  not  disturbing 
me,"  Marie  entreated  eagerly ;  but  Theodora, 
with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  was 


78  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

inexorable,  and  made  them  go  downstairs  with 
her. 

Marie  had  a  little  dictionary  by  her  side, 
and  as  soon  as  Theodora  and  the  children  had 
left  her  she  turned  to  "  Common  English 
Christian  Names  of  Men."  She  knew  that 
Theodora  wanted  to  call  the  baby  Nathaniel 
Bradlee,  and  she  had  not  had  the  courage  as 
yet  to  make  more  than  a  feeble  protest  against 
this  dreadful  name  ;  but  she  meant  to  suggest 
a  beautiful  one,  such  as  Valentine  or  Cyril,  to 
her  husband,  who,  until  his  sister  had  come, 
had  never  gainsaid  her  wishes. 

"  My  precious  baby,"  she  began,  "  you  shall 
have  the  finest  name  that  any  little  boy  can 
have.  How  would  you  like  Anthony,  you 
darling  ?  Or  Arthur  ?  That  is  a  little  too 
common  now.  What  do  you  think  of  Brian  ? 
Or  Cyril  ?  That  is  one  of  the  prettiest. 
Dennis  is  another  of  my  favorites,  but  I  don't 
like  the  sound  of  Dennis  Davidson.  Lionel 
is  fine,  but  that  means  young  lion,  and,  dar- 
ling, I  hope  you  won't  be  that  kind  of  a  man, 
but  will  be  gentle  and  courteous  to  every  one, 
like  your  father." 

She  commented  in  turn  on  each  name  that 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  79 

pleased  her  fancy,  and  reduced  the  number  at 
last  to  Cyril,  Lancelot,  Norman,  Reginald,  and 
Valentine.  The  baby  was  born  on  Valentine's 
eve,  which  seemed  a  reason  for  giving  him  that 
name ;  but  it  was  not  as  imperative  a  reason 
as  if  his  birthday  had  beqn  on  the  fourteenth, 
and  Valentine  might  be  too  fanciful  if  he  lived 
to  be  an  old  man. 

"  Theodora,"  Marie  inquired  timidly,  when 
her  sister-in-law  brought  in  her  tea  that  even- 
ing, "  don't  you  think  that  Cyril  would  be  a 
very  good  name  for  the  baby  ?  Cyril  Davidson 
sounds  so  well." 

It  took  a  good  deal  of  courage  to  ask  this 
question. 

"  Why,  Marie !  "  Theodora  cried  in  conster- 
nation, "  I  thought  the  baby's  name  was  settled. 
Edward  told  me  that  you  had  agreed  that  he 
should  be  called  Nathaniel  Bradlee." 

"  But  Nathaniel  is  such  a  —  of  course  it  is 
a  very  good  name,"  she  added  hastily,  not 
wanting  to  hurt  Theodora's  feelings,  "  only  — 
don't  you  think  he  might  object  to  it  after  he 
grew  up  ?  So  many  people  think  it  an  ugly 
name." 

"  If  he  is  anything  like  our  side  of  the  house, 


80  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

he  will  be  proud  of  a  name  that  has  been  in 
the  family  for  three  generations." 

"  But  suppose  he  should  be  like  my  fam- 
ily ? "  Marie  asked  with  hesitation.  "  So 
many  of  us  have  had  pretty  names  and  cared 
about  them.  If  he  were  to  be  called  some- 
thing besides  Nathaniel,  which  do  you  like 
best,  —  Cyril,  or  Norman,  or  Reginald  ?  Or 
do  you  prefer  Lancelot  or  Valentine  ?  " 

"  I  dislike  them  all,  and  so  would  he  when 
he  grew  up.  No  man  likes  to  go  through  life 
saddled  with  a  fanciful  name." 

"  But  do  you  think,  Theodora,  that  a  man 
likes  to  go  through  life  saddled  with  an  — 
with  a  name  that  most  people  think  is  ugly?" 

"  A  plain  name  is  n't  any  more  of  a  draw- 
back to  a  man  than  a  plain  face,  and  it  is  a 
great  advantage  to  him  from  a  business  point 
of  view  to  have  a  name  that  is  known  through- 
out New  England.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  is  an  advantage,"  Marie  ac- 
knowledged weakly.  She  had  neither  the 
physical  strength  nor  the  moral  courage  to 
pursue  the  subject  at  present. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  grow  fond  of  '  Nathan- 
iel,' "  Theodora  said  cheerfully  as  she  left  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  81 

room.  "  There  is  nothing  like  having  plea- 
sant associations  with  a  name  to  make  one  care 
for  it." 

Marie  wondered  if  the  same  rule  would 
work  in  Theodora's  case,  and  if  pleasant  asso- 
ciations would  endear  Lancelot  or  Valentine 
to  her,  but  she  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself. 
As  for  Theodora,  she  was  too  thankful  to  have 
rescued  one  of  her  nephews  from  the  infliction 
of  a  romantic  name  to  have  any  sympathy  for 
his  mother's  point  of  view. 

After  her  sister-in-law  had  departed,  Marie 
drew  her  baby  to  her  and  gave  a  despairing 
sigh. 

"  My  precious  love,"  she  said,  "  I  can't 
bear  to  have  you  called  by  that  odious  name 
Nathaniel,  all  because  your  aunt  wishes  it ;  I 
am  of  no  account  any  more  ;  but  you  are  mine, 
mine,  mine  !  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidson,  you 
are  only  her  nephew,  and  yet  you  are  to  have 
her  mark  upon  you.  Nathaniel  Bradlee,  you 
poor  little  fellow,  your  mamma  will  call  you 
Niel !  that  will  make  a  very  pretty  nickname. 
I  am  of  no  use  to  anybody,  baby,  and  if  I 
were  to  die  I  have  no  doubt  that  your  Aunt 
Theodora  would  bring  you  up  beautifully,  a 


82  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

great  deal  better  than  I  shall,  you  darling! 
How  I  hate  her !  And  yet  how  I  love  her, 
too  !  for  she  is  so  good." 

When  the  day  for  the  christening  came, 
Marie  was  well  enough  to  be  lying  on  the  sofa 
in  the  studio  in  a  pale-blue  wrapper.  She 
looked  as  fair  and  sweet  as  a  Fra  Angelico 
angel.  The  two  ministers  had  been  summoned 
for  the  occasion :  the  Reverend  Mr.  Thorndyke 
was  to  take  the  preliminary  part  of  the  service 
and  give  the  little  fellow  his  name,  as  he  was 
an  old  friend  of  the  last  Nathaniel  Davidson ; 
and  Mr.  Compton  was  to  make  the  concluding 
prayer. 

Marie  wanted  the  christening  to  take  place 
in  the  studio,  for  sentimental  reasons ;  but 
Edward  had  a  sense  of  whimsical  incongruity, 
as  he  noticed  that  the  silver  hair  of  the  bene- 
volent old  clergyman  had  a  plaster  cast  of  the 
Apollo  Belvedere  for  a  background.  The 
head  of  Clytie  kept  watch  in  another  corner, 
and  the  Venus  de  Milo  looked  at  them  benig- 
nantly  from  the  top  of  a  chest  of  drawers. 
There  were  copies  from  some  of  the  old  mas- 
ters on  the  walls  ;  Correggio's  Diana  was  next 
to  a  Cupid  and  Psyche,  while  some  of  Marie's 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  83 

studies  filled  in  the  interstices.  Paganism 
and  Christianity  seemed  to  meet  as  the  old 
minister  began  his  long  prayer,  unabashed  by 
the  motley  company  that  Edward  felt  were 
gazing  curiously  at  him  from  the  walls. 

The  three  older  children  sat  with  big,  round 
eyes  fixed  on  their  little  brother,  who  looked 
very  trim  and  nice  in  the  long  white  dress  that 
his  aunt  had  daintily  tucked  and  ruffled.  His 
father  held  him  in  a  tentative  fashion,  and 
presently  the  little  fellow  puckered  up  his  red 
face  and  began  to  wail  lustily. 

"  Edward,  he  is  n't  comfortable  ;  let  me 
take  him,"  Theodora  whispered.  Edward  re- 
linquished him,  only  too  gladly,  in  spite  of 
Marie's  disapproval.  The  little  creature 
stopped  crying  at  once,  and  nestled  his  head 
against  his  aunt's  strong  arm.  She  looked 
very  beautiful  as  she  stood  with  the  winter  sun- 
light shining  on  her  fine  face,  that  was  softened 
almost  beyond  recognition  as  she  glanced  down 
at  the  tiny  person  in  her  arms.  The  baby 
was  very  quiet  during  the  minister's  long 
prayer,  but  he  gave  one  faint  cry  as  the  kind 
old  man  took  him  from  his  aunt.  Then  Mr. 
Thorndyke  dipped  his  fingers  in  a  silver  bowl 


84  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

that  stood  on  the  table  and  touched  the  child's 
forehead. 

Theodora  felt  a  thrill  as  she  thought  of  the 
other  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidsons  who  had 
once  been  as  helpless  as  this  baby,  and  had 
afterwards  taken  a  useful  part  in  the  great 
world.  There  was  a  hush  for  a  moment  broken 
at  last  by  Mr.  Thorndyke's  solemn  voice :  — 

"  Cyril,  I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Fa- 
ther, and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Theodora  seemed  dazed,  and  glanced  at  her 
brother  in  a  questioning  way.  He  nodded  as 
if  to  say,  "  It  is  all  right."  Her  color  rose,  and 
an  angry  light  shone  in  her  eyes.  The  angel- 
like  Marie's  face  wore  an  all  too  earthly  ex- 
pression of  triumph.  Mr.  Compton,  who  had 
heard  the  name  discussed,  looked  sympathetic- 
ally from  the  mother  to  the  aunt.  Theodora 
did  not  hear  one  word  of  his  concluding  prayer. 

After  the  outsiders  had  departed,  she  con- 
fronted her  brother  with  an  unnatural  calm  in 
her  voice,  and  an  equally  unnatural  brilliancy 
about  the  eyes. 

"  Why  did  you  let  that  child  have  such  an 
outlandish  name  as  Cyril,  after  what  you 
promised  me  ?  "  she  asked. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  85 

"  Now,  Theo,  calm  yourself." 

"I  am  calm  enough,"  she  said  coldly. 
"  Why  did  you  allow  it?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Because  I  found  at  the  last  minute,  after 
the  ministers  had  come,  and  while  you  were 
getting  the  little  beggar,  that  his  mother  was 
worried  almost  to  death  at  the  idea  of  his  be- 
ing called  Nathaniel.  Now,  Theodora,  do  you 
honestly  think  it  is  a  pretty  name?  " 

"  It  was  a  good  enough  name  for  three  gen- 
erations of  Davidsons." 

"  That  is  true,  my  love,  but  it  was  not  suffi- 
ciently euphonious  for  the  fourth  generation. 
My  father  did  not  like  it  well  enough  to  give 
it  to  me." 

"  If  she  had  called  him  Edward,  for  you,  I 
should  not  have  minded ;  but  fancy  carrying 
the  name  of  Cyril  through  life  !  " 

"  It  is  better  than  Valentine." 

"  Valentine  would  have  been  preposterous  ; 
but,  Edward,  you  promised  me  "  — 

"  Look  here,  Theodora,  what  is  a  poor  man 
to  do,  when  his  only  sister  says  she  shall  die  if 
his  child  is  called  Cyril,  and  his  only  wife 
says  she  shall  die  if  he  is  called  Nathaniel? 
We  might  have  called  him  Cyril  Nathaniel,  or 


86  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Nathaniel  Cyril,  to  be  sure,  but  the  names 
don't  seem  to  '  gee,'  if  you  will  excuse  the  col- 
loquialism." 

"  Well,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  about 
it  now,"  she  said  in  tragic  tones. 

Theodora  went  upstairs  to  her  own  room, 
and,  after  locking  the  door,  flung  herself  down 
in  the  old-fashioned  chintz  armchair,  and 
wrung  and  twisted  her  handkerchief  through 
her  fingers ;  she  was  all  ablaze  with  anger. 
She  was  too  unused  to  self  -  analysis  to  be 
aware  that  her  indignation  arose  quite  as 
much  from  the  fact  that  she  had  been  de- 
feated by  Marie  as  from  the  question  of  names. 
"  The  underhanded  little  thing ! "  she  said  to 
herself.  "  If  she  had  told  me  that  she  was 
going  to  call  him  Cyril,  I  should  not  have  com- 
plained. And  this  is  the  woman  to  whom  my 
brother  has  given  his  passionate  affection ! " 
It  did  not  once  occur  to  her  that  her  sister-in- 
law's  lack  of  openness  was  the  direct  result 
of  her  own  domineering  will.  Theodora  had 
never  been  so  angry  since  the  night  when  she 
had  defied  her  father  so  many  years  ago. 
Why  was  it,  she  asked  herself,  that  insincere 
women  without  strength  of  character  were  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  87 

women  who  were  idealized  by  men?  She 
would  willingly  die  for  her  brother.  Had  she 
not  sacrificed  all  her  cherished  plans  because 
she  believed  he  needed  her?  and  toiled  for 
him  patiently  for  nine  long  months  ?  And 
this  was  her  reward !  At  the  first  faint  sug- 
gestion from  his  wife,  he  had  broken  his  pro- 
mise to  her.  The  strongest  and  the  most 
unselfish  love  of  a  brother  for  a  sister  counted 
for  nothing  when  put  in  the  scale  against  the 
love  of  husband  and  wife.  Theodora  was  a 
woman  who  craved  with  her  whole  passionate 
heart  to  be  first  with  those  whom  she  loved. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  life?  she  asked 
herself.  Was  it  to  be  one  long  struggle  to  do 
and  to  bear,  with  no  reward  in  this  world  but 
to  see  her  best  beloved  drift  away  to  worship 
at  some  alien  shrine?  Was  there  nothing 
that  a  woman  could  call  her  own  unless  she 
had  a  husband  and  children  ?  As  her  anger 
in  the  present  petty  quarrel  died  away  in  her 
interest  in  these  greater  questions,  she  looked 
down  absently  at  the  handkerchief  in  her  lap, 
and  saw  that  she  had  torn  it  badly  in  her 
excitement.  This  insignificant  circumstance 
brought  her  to  herself  with  a  shock.  It  terri- 


88  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

fied  her  to  think  that  she  had  so  far  lost  her 
self-control  as  to  be  unconscious  of  what  she 
was  doing.  She  thrust  the  handkerchief  into 
the  grate,  and  pressed  it  down  with  the  tongs 
into  the  heart  of  a  bed  of  coals.  She  watched 
it  smoulder  and  burn,  and  then  gave  a  little 
sigh  of  relief.  The  conflagration  seemed  to 
clear  the  atmosphere,  and  now  that  she  was 
calmer  she  was  able  to  do  justice  to  her  sister- 
in-law,  and  went  downstairs,  with  a  revulsion 
of  feeling,  to  find  her.  Marie  was  still  lying 
on  the  sofa  in  the  studio,  and  Edward  was  ten- 
derly holding  her  hand.  They  started  guiltily 
at  her  approach. 

"  Marie,"  said  Theodora  penitently,  "  I  am 
sorry  that  you  did  not  tell  me  how  much  you 
wanted  to  name  the  baby  Cyril.  Of  course 
you  were  the  person  to  name  him,  and  it  was 
selfish  of  me  to  urge  you  to  call  him  something 
else,  but  I  did  not  know  how  much  you  cared." 

Marie  colored  rosy  red  and  opened  her 
arms  wide  to  Theodora.  "  Dear,  dear  Theo- 
dora," she  said,  "  I  meant  to  call  him  Xa- 
thaniel,  to  please  you ;  but  at  the  last  moment 
it  seemed  as  if  I  could  not  bear  it :  will  you 
forgive  me  ?  " 


VII. 

DUEING  the  weeks  that  Marie  was  upstairs, 
Theodora  had  rejoiced  in  having  her  brother 
to  herself,  for  she  thought  it  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  counteract  his  wife's  influence. 
Her  sister-in-law's  chief  object  was  to  make 
Edward  comfortable  and  happy,  whereas  her 
own  cherished  desire,  as  she  had  confided  to 
Frank  Compton,  was  to  develop  his  latent 
powers.  It  was  inexcusable  for  a  man  with 
such  unusual  talents  to  fritter  away  his  life. 
He  did  not  seem  inclined  to  begin  one  of 
the  important  pictures  for  which  he  so  often 
found  a  subject,  and,  as  she  knew  nothing 
about  art,  she  decided  to  turn  her  attention  to 
his  literary  career.  He  had  been  class  poet 
in  college,  and  in  his  younger  days  had  fre- 
quently dreamed  of  distinguishing  himself  in 
literature.  Theodora  was  sure  that  he  was 
exactly  the  person  to  write  the  biography 
of  their  Revolutionary  ancestor,  and  conse- 
quently, evening  after  evening,  she  made  him 


90  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

read  over  old  family  letters  with  her,  and  put 
aside  those  which  might  be  useful  in  the  Life 
of  General  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidson.  At 
first  he  had  been  amused  by  the  letters,  as 
he  was  by  all  new  things,  and  had  rashly 
expressed  his  interest,  in  his  somewhat  exag- 
gerated fashion. 

"  Theo,"  he  said,  as  they  sat  together  cosily 
one  evening  in  the  studio,  "  how  nice  it  is  that 
you  are  here,  and  what  a  jolly  thing  it  is  to 
have  ancestors  !  By  the  way,  how  thoughtful 
it  is  in  Providence  to  provide  all  of  us  with 
them !  A  poor  fellow  may  miss  the  joy  of 
descendants,  but  ancestors,  like  the  poor,  are 
with  him  always." 

In  the  course  of  time,  however,  Edward 
deeply  regretted  the  ubiquitous  quality  of  his 
ancestors,  for  he  found  the  perusal  of  their 
letters  an  intolerable  bore. 

Theodora  also  interested  herself  in  making 
out  the  Davidson  genealogy,  but  her  brother 
gave  her  slight  assistance  in  this  pursuit. 
There  are  limits  which  the  most  amiable  of 
men  cannot  pass. 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  had  been  a  work- 
house foundling,"  he  once  said  to  Marie,  "  or 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  91 

that  all  of  my  ancestors  had  been  hanged ! 
They  were  such  a  terribly  upright  race,  too  ! 
If  I  could  only  learn  of  a  Davidson  who  had 
forged,  or  committed  a  murder,  I  should  have 
a  feeling  of  thorough  satisfaction,  but  they 
were  so  monotonously  exemplary  and  ener- 
getic !  They  make  me  feel  as  if  I  wanted  to 
burn  down  somebody's  house,  or  run  off  with 
somebody's  money,  just  to  vary  the  family 
record." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  Theodora  how  you 
feel  ?  "  his  wife  asked  with  a  smile. 

"  Good  heavens,  Marie !  I  should  as  soon 
think  of  telling  you  that  Cyril  bores  me,  or 
that  I  should  be  pleased  if  Guy  and  Gladys 
could  be  quietly  drowned  in  the  river.  Her 
ancestors  are  to  Theo  what  our  descendants 
are  to  us." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  have  come 
of  such  a  noble  race,"  said  Marie. 

"  It  would  be  all  very  well  except  that  they 
set  a  standard.  I  don't  mind  people's  being 
good,  if  they  only  won't  expect  me  to  follow 
in  their  footsteps.  What  do  you  suppose 
Theodora  is  trying  for  now?  She  wants  to 
turn  me  into  a  model  citizen.  She  says  that  I 


92  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

am  one  of  the  richest  men  in  town,  as  if  that 
were  my  fault  and  not  my  misfortune.  I 
can't  help  it  if  my  ancestors  worked  like  bees 
and  hoarded  up  a  little  pile  of  money,  and  I 
don't  see  why  I  must  assume  responsibilities 
that  are  not  of  my  own  making.  She  thinks 
that,  because  I  am  one  of  the  richest  and 
idlest  men  in  Edgecomb,  I  ought  to  go  to 
town-meeting,  and  take  an  active  part  in  all 
the  town  projects.  She  wants  me  to  be  one 
of  the  selectmen.  I  tell  her  that  I  am  a  suf- 
ficiently select  man  as  it  is." 

So  long  as  Theodora  had  confined  her  at- 
tention to  improving  his  property,  Edward 
had  remained  quiescent ;  now  that  she  had 
begun  to  attempt  to  improve  himself,  he  grew 
restive.  Why  in  thunder  did  a  man  settle 
in  the  country?  Had  he  been  of  an  active, 
stirring  temperament  he  would  have  lived  in 
the  city.  He  did  not  want  to  "  improve  each 
shining  hour ;  "  far  from  it !  His  mission  in 
life  was,  not  to  do  a  great  work,  but  to  amuse 
himself  and  charm  his  friends.  Would  he  be 
as  much  beloved  if  he  dashed  into  the  arena 
of  the  town-meeting,  and  took  sides  in  all  the 
petty  questions  that  divided  his  fellow  towns- 
men? 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.  93 

Of  course  he  did  not  say  all  this  to  Theo- 
dora, for  Theo  would  not  have  liked  it.  He 
could  not  bear  to  destroy  that  ideal  of  him 
which  she  had  enshrined  in  her  heart  ever 
since  they  were  boy  and  girl  together.  He  did 
not  want  to  have  her  learn  suddenly  what  it 
had  taken  him  a  dozen  years  to  discover, 
namely,  the  probability  that  he  never  would 
become  either  the  artistic  or  literary  genius 
that  in  those  far-away  days  he  had  beguiled 
her  into  thinking  he  was  to  be. 

When  Marie  was  well  enough  to  come  down- 
stairs, she  too  was  treated  to  the  letters  of 
General  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidson.  She 
thought  them  insufferably  tedious ;  but  it 
pained  her  less  to  seem  to  listen  to  them,  while 
she  was  in  reality  thinking  about  her  next 
picture  or  planning  her  children's  clothes, 
than  it  would  have  done  to  hurt  her  sister-in- 
law's  feelings.  How  Marie  sighed  for  the  dear, 
delightful,  vagrant  evenings  of  a  year  ago, 
when  she  and  Edward  sat  in  the  all  too  dusty 
studio,  while  he  smoked  and  she  sewed,  and 
they  chatted  about  trifles,  or  else  he  read  aloud 
some  amusing  novel !  Theodora  by  no  means 
despised  novels,  and  had  read  a  number  of 


94  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

them  aloud  in  the  past  nine  months,  but  she 
was  a  woman  who  was  always  intensely  inter- 
ested in  the  subject  at  hand. 

Unhappily  for  Edward,  the  sorting  of  the 
family  letters  could  not  go  on  forever.  By 
April  the  flowers  had  been  culled  from  the 
weeds,  so  to  speak,  and  had  been  put  in  his 
desk,  tied  in  neat  bundles  and  ready  for  im- 
mediate use. 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  delaying  your  work 
any  longer,  Edward,"  Theodora  said  with  de- 
cision one  bright  morning.  "  I  will  escort 
you  to  the  den  now,  and  leave  you  to  begin 
your  task,  for  everything  is  ready." 

"  Theo,  I  am  going  up  the  river  to  make  a 
sketch  this  morning." 

"  So  you  said  yesterday,  but  you  came  back 
without  a  sketch.  You  might  as  well  begin 
to-day  as  to  put  it  off  any  longer." 

"My  darling,  my  beloved  and  cherished 
Theodora,  you  do  not  understand  these  things. 
I  have  no  stirrings  of  the  muse  to-day.  I  must 
wait  until  I  am  in  the  right  mood  to  begin." 

"  You  have  said  that  all  winter,  dear.  If 
you  wait  for  the  right  mood,  you  will  never 
accomplish  anything." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  95 

"  Was  n't  it  George  Eliot  who  said  that 
'genius  must  never  cramp  its  glorious  wings 
by  writing,  unless  the  spirit  of  the  muse 
moves '  ?  "  he  inquired  insinuatingly,  impro- 
vising the  quotation  with  guilty  facility. 

"  I  don't  think  so.  You  must  have  got  it 
mixed  up  with  what  somebody  else  said,  for 
it  does  not  sound  like  her.  She  said  that 
'genius  implies  hard  work.' ' 

"  Then,  Theo,  it  is  barely  possible  that  you 
have  overrated  my  ability,  and  that  I  have 
merely  talent.  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  begin  to 
doubt  my  capacity  for  the  job." 

"  And  I  begin  to  doubt  your  desire  for  it. 
If  you  have  no  intention  of  writing  this  life  of 
our  great-grandfather,  please  say  so  at  once ; 
no  one  compels  you  to  do  it.  It  is  what  you 
always  have  said  you  meant  to  do,  ever  since 
we  were  children." 

Should  he  own  that  he  did  not  have  suffi- 
cient patience  for  the  task?  Or  should  he 
honestly  try  to  accomplish  this  piece  of  work, 
which  covered  an  interesting  period  of  history, 
and  was  well  worth  the  doing?  He  tempo- 
rized. 

"  It  would  be  awfully  interesting  if  it  were 


96  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

well  done,"  he  acknowledged  ;  "  but,  after  all, 
the  ground  has  been  covered  so  many  times 
that  I  don't  believe  I  could  ever  get  it  pub- 
lished. You  have  no  idea,  Theodora,  how 
hard  it  is  to  find  a  publisher,  even  for  the 
best  books." 

"  I  suppose  it  is ;  but  you  can  at  least  ar- 
range the  letters  in  such  a  form  that  your  sons 
can  read  them  by  and  by.  As  they  are  now, 
no  one  will  ever  take  the  trouble  to  decipher 
them,  but  your  handwriting  is  as  legible  as 
copperplate." 

"  I  have  at  least  improved  upon  the  old 
general  in  that  particular." 

"  Indeed  you  have.  You  can  copy  the  let- 
ters, and  put  in  a  few  connecting  links,  and 
have  a  pamphlet  printed  for  private  circula- 
tion, if  you  do  nothing  more.  You  would 
be  much  happier  if  you  had  a  regular  occu- 
pation." 

"  Yes  ?  If  so,  I  am  almost  afraid  to  risk  it. 
I  am  awfully  happy  as  it  is,  Theodora.  If  I 
become  any  happier,  I  don't  think  I  can  stay 
on  this  earth." 

Theodora  could  not  help  laughing,  but  she 
did  not  give  up  her  point. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  97 

"  Edward  Davidson,  will  you,  or  will  you 
not,  copy  some  letters  this  morning?  As  I 
said  before,  no  one  compels  you  to  do  it.  It 
is  only  a  little  thing  that  I  ask  as  a  favor." 

Edward  yielded  because  it  was  easier  to 
yield  than  to  contest  the  point.  He  had 
evaded  his  fate  for  two  months  ;  he  felt  that 
he  coidd  escape  it  110  longer.  He  went  up  to 
his  den  and  had  a  good  smoke.  As  he  was 
a  sociable  man,  he  did  not  like  being  shut 
away  from  the  others  while  he  smoked,  and 
neither  did  he  enjoy  working  alone,  but,  nev- 
ertheless, in  the  two  hours  of  his  solitary 
confinement  he  actually  copied  three  letters. 
Theodora  was  radiant  when  she  saw  what  he 
had  done. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  once,  but  there  was 
a  to-morrow  coming,  in  fact  a  long  succession 
of  bright  spring  to-morrows,  when  he  wanted 
to  be  out  in  his  boat,  or  dreamily  drinking 
in  the  fragrant  air  on  some  hillside  while 
he  dashed  off  a  hurried  sketch,  or  hunted  for 
wild-flowers  with  the  children. 

"  You  know  nobody  likes  an  out-of-door  life 
more  than  I  do,"  Theodora  returned,  one 
morning,  when  he  gave  the  glorious  weather  as 


98  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

an  excuse  for  not  working.  "  I  can  sympa- 
thize with  your  feeling  entirely,  but  you  will 
have  all  the  rest  of  the  day  for  out-of-doors, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  enjoy  yourself  a  great 
deal  better  if  you  do  a  little  work  first.  If 
you  once  give  up  working  for  a  day,  it  will  be 
hard  to  resume  the  habit.  Do  copy  at  least 
one  letter  to  please  me,"  she  entreated. 

It  was  easier  to  copy  one  letter  than  to  have 
a  discussion,  but  Edward  went  up  to  his  den 
in  an  angry  frame  of  mind.  Theo  was  a  fine 
girl  and  he  loved  her  dearly,  but  if  she  was  to 
live  with  him  for  the  rest  of  his  life  and  insist 
upon  his  distinguishing  himself  either  in  lit- 
erature or  art,  or  town  politics,  he  should  go 
out  and  hang  himself  at  the  first  convenient 
opportunity.  When  he  unburdened  himself 
to  Marie  she  reproved  him  gently,  although 
she  could  not  help  a  secret  sense  of  triumph 
at  the  turn  that  affairs  had  taken. 

"  She  is  a  splendid  woman,  and  I  wish  I 
were  half  as  superior,"  she  said. 

"  Marie,  dear,  I  should  have  deserted  you 
long  ago  if  you  had  been.  Happily,  one  can 
get  a  divorce  from  an  uncongenial  wife.  One 
can  leave  home,  as  Theodora  did,  if  one  has 


THE  COMIXG   OF  THEODORA.  99 

uncongenial  parents.  But,  ye  gods !  how  is 
one  to  escape  from  a  sister  whose  only  fault  is 
her  superiority?  You  can't  get  a  divorce  from 
a  sister,  and  neither  can  you  turn  her  out  of 
your  house  when  you  have  asked  her  to  live 
with  you  forever.  Who  would  have  thought 
that  a  fine-looking,  conscientious,  attractive, 
efficient  girl  could  have  contrived  to  make 
herself  so  insufferable  in  one  short  year  ?  " 

"  Dear,"  said  Marie  soothingly,  "  think  how 
much  she  has  done  for  us.  You  will  love  her 
as  well  as  ever  to-morrow.  You  are  vexed 
because  she  made  you  go  to  town-meeting  last 
night,  and  insisted  upon  your  copying  those 
letters  to-day ;  but  really,  Ned,  it  will  be  a 
fine  thing  if  you  do  write  a  book  about  your 
great-grandfather.  We  shall  have  a  little 
change  to-morrow,"  she  added,  for  they  were 
going  to  spend  a  few  days  with  Frank  Comp- 
ton's  sister. 

"  Yes,  Heaven  be  praised !  Charlotte  Pres- 
ton is  almost  as  much  of  a  trump  as  old 
Fanny.  To  be  sure,  her  husband  is  a  trifle 
particular,  being  a  minister ;  but  he  is  a  sym- 
pathetic soul,  and  when  he  knows  my  suffer- 
ings, I  think  he  will  let  me  smoke  in  the 


100  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

drawing-room,  and  swear  a  little,  in  a  quiet 
and  genteel  way,  of  course ;  and  perhaps,  if 
he  knows  the  whole  state  of  the  case,  he  will 
consent  to  let  me  relieve  myself  by  setting  fire 
to  his  stable." 


VIII. 

THAT  evening  Frank  Compton  came  to  give 
the  Davidsons  messages  for  his  sister. 

"  Mrs.  Davidson,"  he  said,  as  he  settled 
himself  comfortably  in  the  studio,  where  she 
and  Theodora  were  sitting,  "  I  have  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  can't  leave  the  study  as  it  is 
any  longer.  Marianne,  my  housemaid,  says 
it  is  disgraceful,  and  I  ani  afraid  she  is  right. 
The  Association  is  to  dine  with  me  next 
month,  and  I  must  have  it  in  order  before 
that  time.  If  you  will  ask  Charlotte  to  get 
a  carpet,  and  some  curtains  and  things,  I  shall 
be  greatly  obliged  to  you." 

"  You  are  going  to  change  that  room  ? " 
Marie  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,  I  can't  help  it ;  the  carpet  is  actually 
in  rags,  and  the  curtains  and  two  of  the  chair- 
coverings  are  past  redemption." 

"  Then  I  suppose  she  would  be  the  first 
to  wish  it,"  Marie  said,  with  a  little  sigh. 
'•  What  are  the  dimensions  of  the  room  ? " 
she  inquired  presently. 


102          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  I  have  n't  the  faintest  idea.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  and  Ned  would  be  so  good  as  to 
look  it  over  to-morrow  morning,  and  see  what 
colors  would  go  best  there,  and  how  much  I 
need  of  everything.  I  know  it  is  asking  a 
great  deal,  but  you  have  been  so  awfully  good 
to  me,  and  your  own  house  is  so  pretty,  and 
I  don't  know  in  the  least  what  I  ought  to 
have." 

Theodora  could  not  help  joining  in  the  dis- 
cussion that  followed,  for  house-decoration 
was  as  stimulating  to  her  as  the  battle  is  to 
the  war-horse.  She  threw  herself  into  the 
question  of  reconstruction  with  such  ardor 
that  it  was  finally  settled  that  she  and  Marie 
should  go  to  the  parsonage  the  next  morning 
to  overlook  the  study  and  take  the  requisite 
measurements. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Edward,  who  sauntered 
in  at  this  point,  "how  are  the  new  servants 
working  ?  " 

Frank's  domestic  affairs  had  had  the  variety 
and  picturesqueness  of  a  dime  novel  of  late,  to 
quote  one  of  Edward's  phrases. 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  Nora,  but  Marianne  is  a 
trump.  You  can  tell  Charlotte  that  I  have  n't 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          103 

been  so  well  off  since  she  was  married.  I  can 
have  my  '  evening  out '  now  as  often  as  I  like, 
for  if  she  says  she  will  stay  with  Essie  she 
keeps  her  word." 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  met  her  in  the  vil- 
lage half  an  hour  ago  with  Patrick  O'Brien." 

"  It  is  impossible  !  She  promised  that  she 
would  not  leave  the  house,  and  besides  she  is 
too  self-respecting  a  girl  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  that  O'Brien  fellow.  It  must  have 
been  her  sister  Lizzie." 

"  Has  she  a  twin  sister,  who  wears  a  gray 
dress  just  like  hers,  and  a  hat  with  red  roses 
in  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  their  clothes,  but  you  could 
n't  have  seen  Marianne,  for  I  am  as  sure  of 
her  as  I  should  be  of  you." 

"  If  she  is  like  me,  she  must  be  a  perfect 
treasure,  must  n't  she,  Theodora  ?  What ! 
are  you  going  so  soon,  Frank  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  if  there  is  any  chance  that  Essie  is 
left  alone,  I  must  go  back,  although  I  am  sure 
Marianne  would  not  break  her  promise." 

When  Mr.  Compton  reached  the  parsonage 
he  rang  the  bell,  instead  of  letting  himself 
in  with  his  latch-key.  To  his  infinite  relief, 


104  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Marianne  appeared  promptly.  She  was  as 
demure  and  respectful  as  usual,  and  as  he 
glanced  at  her  slight,  lady-like  figure  and 
gentle  face  he  was  ashamed  of  his  doubts,  and 
yet  he  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  inquire 
if  she  had  been  at  home  all  the  evening. 

"  And  why  should  I  go  out,  sir  ?  "  she  asked 
reproachfully.  "  Did  n't  I  promise  you  that  I 
would  stay  in  ?  "  and  she  raised  her  innocent 
blue  eyes  to  his  with  a  grieved  expression. 

"  I  was  sure  it  was  a  mistake,  but  somebody 
thought  he  saw  you  in  the  village  with  that 
O'Brien  fellow.  I  don't  like  his  looks,  Ma- 
rianne." 

"  I  don't  myself,"  she  assented  ;  then  she 
added,  "  It  must  have  been  my  sister  Lizzie 
who  was  with  him,  sir." 

"  If  I  had  a  sister  who  knew  him,  I  should 
warn  her  against  him,  for  he  drinks." 

Marianne  did  not  reply,  but  turned  to  go 
back  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  see  here,  Marianne,"  he  called  after 
her,  "  there  seemed  to  be  very  few  towels  and 
pillow-cases  in  the  linen-closet  when  I  went  for 
some  towels  this  morning.  Do  you  know 
where  they  are  ?  " 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          105 

"  Yes,  sir,  there  were  a  great  maiiy  in  the 
wash  this  week." 

"  Ought  n't  they  to  be  out  of  the  wash  by 
Friday  ?  "  he  asked  with  hesitation.  He  dis- 
liked exceedingly  to  reprove  this  delicate, 
refined-looking  creature. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  they  ought  to  be  ironed  by  Tues- 
day night,  but  it  rained  the  first  of  the  week." 

"Marianne,  some  ladies  are  coming  in  the 
morning  to  take  the  measure  for  the  new  cur- 
tains and  carpet  in  the  study.  You  must  see 
that  the  room  is  in  order,  and  if  I  am  not  at 
home  you  must  have  the  yardstick  and  tape- 
measure  ready." 

A  shade  came  across  Marianne's  face.  "  Of 
course  it  is  as  you  please,  sir,  but  I  could  have 
taken  the  measurements,  and  gone  to  Boston 
and  bought  anything  you  required." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  my  sister  will  get 
the  things  for  me." 

Early  the  next  morning  Dobbin,  the  worthy 
but  lazy  white  horse,  was  harnessed  into  the 
rejuvenated  buggy,  and  Theodora  drove  Marie 
down  to  the  parsonage.  It  was  a  pleasant, 
square,  old-fashioned  white  house,  standing  a 
little  back  from  the  street,  with  two  great 


106          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

horse-chestnut  trees,  one  on  either  side  of  the 
bricked  walk  which  led  from  the  gate  to  the 
door.  Marianne  met  them  with  the  news  that 
Mr.  Gompton  had  been  called  away  to  see  a 
sick  parishioner,  and  she  showed  them  into  the 
study  at  the  right  of  the  hall  with  her  habitual 
air  of  imperturbable  respect. 

"  It  seems  a  shame  to  have  to  alter  this 
dear  old  room,"  said  Marie,  as  they  crossed 
its  threshold.  "  It  is  full  of  the  things  that 
belonged  to  Mrs.  Compton  ;  Frank  would  not 
have  anything  changed." 

Theodora  glanced  about  her  with  inter- 
est. "  How  charming  that  is  !  "  she  said,  as 
she  paused  to  examine  the  white  mantelpiece, 
carved  with  festoons  of  leaves,  which  was  op- 
posite her  as  she  entered  the  study. 

In  front  of  the  fireplace  stood  Mr.  Comp- 
ton's  study-table,  a  commodious  affair,  with 
numerous  drawers  and  an  ink-splashed  green 
cover.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  was  an  up- 
right piano,  and  over  it  hung  a  banjo  tied  with 
a  ribbon  that  had  once  been  pink.  In  an- 
other corner  was  a  Davenport  desk,  and  above 
it  was  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Compton.  Theodora 
gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise  as  her  eyes 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          107 

reached  this  point  in  her  survey.  "  What  an 
interesting  face ! " 

"  Is  n't  it  ?  Edward  painted  her  long  ago, 
before  she  was  married." 

"  It  is  the  best  piece  of  work  he  ever  did ; 
very  sketchy,  of  course,  but  the  eyes  seem 
alive  as  they  look  at  us.  What  beautiful  dark 
eyes  !  like  Essie's,  only  with  a  soul  in  them. 
Why  has  nobody  told  me  anything  about 
her?" 

Theodora  stood  spell-bound  before  the  pic- 
ture of  the  dark-haired  girl,  with  her  Spanish 
coloring,  and  pathetic,  earnest,  passionate  eyes. 
It  was  a  life-size  sketch  of  her  head  and 
shoulders  against  a  dusky  background,  framed 
in  tarnished  gold.  She  wore  a  white  dress  of 
some  shimmering  material,  which  caught  the 
light,  and  the  only  bright  bit  of  color  in  the 
picture  was  a  deep-red  rose  at  her  throat. 

"  Was  she  unhappy  when  she  was  a  girl?  " 
Theodora  asked.  "  She  has  a  half  sad,  half 
dissatisfied  expression  that  I  can't  quite  make 
out." 

"  I  don't  think  she  was  unhappy.  I  fancy 
she  was  passionate  and  intense,  like  Essie,  only 
with  fascination.  She  was  full  of  talent.  She 


108  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

and  Edward  used  to  act  together  in  private 
theatricals,  and  he  says  that  she  was  a  capital 
actress  and  wanted  to  go  on  the  stage.  I  im- 
agine she  was  something  of  a  flirt,  for  she  had 
all  the  boys  in  town  in  her  train  ;  but  as  soon 
as  Frank  Compton  came  upon  the  scene  nobody 
else  had  a  chance,  for  they  fell  in  love  with 
each  other  at  first  sight.  They  were  ideally 
happy.  Edward  is  n't  sure  it  would  have 
lasted,  for  she  was  an  erratic  creature,  and 
thirsted  for  excitement ;  but  I  think  it  would, 
for  Frank  is  so  fine,  and  she  was  very  devoted 
to  him  during  the  year  of  their  marriage. 
Edward  says  he  never  saw  such  a  change  in 
any  one." 

Theodora  looked  from  the  intense  young 
face,  that  seemed  glowing  with  life  even  when 
seen  merely  through  the  medium  of  paint  and 
canvas,  to  its  dingy  surroundings,  and  she 
had  a  longing  to  escape  into  the  air  and  sun- 
shine, out  of  this  room  full  of  bitter  and  sweet 
suggestions,  where  she  had  no  business  to  be, 
she,  the  clear-headed,  practical  woman  of  af- 
fairs. She  had  a  quick  shrinking  from  the 
knowledge  that  there  was  pain  in  the  world 
which  was  greater  than  she  could  imagine. 


THE  COHflNG  OF  THEODORA.          109 

"Can't  we  keep  a  part  of  the  carpet  and 
have  the  floor  painted  around  the  edge?" 
Marie  was  asking,  and  Theodora  came  back 
to  the  present  with  an  effort. 

"Those  curtains  are  hopeless,"  Marie  de- 
cided, after  the  carpet  had  been  thoroughly 
discussed.  "  If  you  will  measure  them,  I  will 
measure  the  floor." 

Theodora  mounted  a  mahogany  chair  with 
a  worn  flowered  chintz  cover,  and  began  to 
take  the  measurements. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  with  a 
bang,  and  Essie,  flushed  and  stormy-eyed, 
rushed  into  the  room. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  in  my  papa's 
study  ?  "  she  asked,  in  the  voice  in  which  the 
biggest  of  the  three  bears  addressed  Silver- 
hair. 

Marie  gave  a  little  start.  Theodora,  who 
had  never  overcome  her  antagonism  to  this 
child,  glanced  down  at  her  half  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  We  are  here  because  your  father  asked  us 
to  come,"  she  replied  succinctly. 

"  What  are  you  doing?  " 

"  Essie,  darling,"  said  Marie  gently,  "  your 


110          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOSA. 

papa  thinks  that  he  must  have  a  new  carpet 
and  paper  and  curtains,  so  that  the  ministers 
may  be  comfortable  when  they  come  here  next 
month." 

"  I  don't  want  anything  changed,"  Essie 
cried  passionately.  "  My  dear  mamma  bought 
the  curtains  and  carpet." 

"  They  were  very  pretty  then,  dearest,  but 
they  are  ragged  now,  and  your  mamma  would 
not  like  your  papa  to  have  ragged  things  in 
his  study,  for  she  was  very  particular.  Every- 
thing else  will  be  here  just  the  same,  her  pic- 
ture and  the  piano,  and  her  desk  and  all  her 
little  things.  Dearest  Essie,  be  reasonable. 
You  are  only  seven  years  old  "  — 

"  Seven  and  a  half,"  Essie  corrected. 

"  And  your  papa  is  a  grown-up  man.  He 
knows  what  is  best,  and  you  love  him  so  much 
that  I  am  sure  you  want  to  please  him." 

Essie  was  silent  a  moment,  and  glanced 
angrily  at  Theodora. 

"  Why  is  she  here  ? "  she  demanded  in  a 
fierce  whisper.  "Can't  you  get  along  with- 
out her?" 

Theodora  overheard  the  question,  and 
turned  to  look  down  at  the  tempestuous  child. 


THE  COMING   OF   THEODORA.          Ill 

"  Essie,"  she  said  dryly,  "  your  papa  asked 
me  to  come  here  this  morning,  but  if  you  wish 
to  send  me  home  I  will  go,  and  you  can  tell 
him  that  you  prefer  to  choose  the  guests  who 
are  to  come  to  his  house." 

Essie  was  brought  to  her  usual  self-con- 
scious, awkward,  painfully  shy  self  by  these 
words.  She  relapsed  into  silence  and  presently 
quitted  the  room,  retiring  to  a  corner  of  the 
staircase,  where  she  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

"  I  must  comfort  the  poor  little  soul,"  said 
Marie ;  and  when  Mr.  Compton  came  home, 
a  few  minutes  later,  he  found  the  two  sitting 
together  on  the  stairs.  Essie's  dark  head 
was  lying  in  Mrs.  Davidson's  lap,  while  she 
tenderly  stroked  the  child's  forehead. 

Theodora  could  hear  Marie's  gentle  expos- 
tulations with  Essie,  and  Frank's  explanations 
to  his  daughter.  She  longed  to  have  them 
give  the  child  the  shaking  she  so  richly  de- 
served, instead  of  condescending  to  argue  with 
her. 

"  Essie,"  said  her  father  at  last,  "  you  will 
tumble  your  Aunt  Marie's  nice  dress  with  that 
tousled  black  hair  of  yours.  By  the  way,  I 


112          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

am  thinking  of  having  her  hair  cut,  she  is  so 
uncomfortable  ;  on  a  day  like  this  she  really 
suffers." 

"  I  would,"  said  Marie.  "  Children  are  so 
much  more  comfortable  with  short  hair,  and  it 
would  be  more  becoming  to  her." 

This  reminded  Theodora  that  it  would  be 
a  good  plan  to  have  her  nieces'  hair  cut,  but 
in  the  hurry  of  the  preparations  for  Marie's 
journey  she  forgot  to  broach  the  subject. 

Her  brother  and  his  wife  were  much  re- 
freshed mentally  by  their  outing,  in  spite  of 
the  severe  heat  which  followed  them,  but 
Marie  was  greatly  fatigued  physically.  It 
frightened  her  to  find  how  little  strength  she 
had,  and  that  the  least  adverse  circumstance 
brought  her  to  the  verge  of  tears.  Edward, 
however,  was  so  devoted  and  considerate  that 
even  the  jolting  car-ride  was  not  wholly  unen- 
durable. 

"  Dearest,"  Marie  said,  as  the  train  ap- 
proached Edgecomb,  "what  bliss  it  has  been 
to  have  these  three  days  with  you  !  " 

"  We  could  not  have  gone  without  Theo- 
dora," he  reminded  her. 

They  smiled  at   the  mention  of  her  name, 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          113 

and  felt  a  little  guilty,  for  they  had  not  been 
able  to  refrain  from  a  few  remarks,  made  to 
each  other  in  the  strictest  confidence,  concern-- 
ing- the  pleasure  of  having  a  vacation  from  her. 
They  were  too  loyal,  however,  to  give  even  a 
hint  to  outsiders  of  the  state  of  the  case. 

Edward  had  business  in  the  village,  so 
Marie  went  home  without  him.  As  Michael 
drove  up  to  the  front  gate,  she  noticed  Guy's 
bright  face  at  the  window,  and  then  there  was 
a  quick  pattering  of  little  feet. 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  Gladys,"  said  Dora, 
gleefully ;  "  we  '11  see  if  she  notices." 

As  the  front  door  opened,  Gladys,  in  spite 
of  Dora's  caution,  rushed  forward  and  cried : 
"  Look  at  me,  mamma  !  And  look  at  Dora  ! 
Don't  we  look  comfortable  ?  We  feel  so 
cool ! " 

Two  red  spots  were  burning  in  Mrs.  David- 
son's cheeks. 

"  My  little  girls,"  she  said,  "  my  naughty, 
naughty  little  girls!  who  told  you  that  you 
could  have  your  hair  cut  ?  " 

"  Aunt  Theodora  told  us  that  we  could 
have  our  hair  cut,"  replied  Dora,  emerging 
from  the  parlor  with  her  little  cropped  head. 


114          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"  I  should  like  to  kill  your  Aunt  Theodora," 
said  their  mother  under  her  breath. 

The  children  could  not  hear  the  exclama- 
tion, but  they  saw  that  something  was  wrong. 

"  Don't  you  like  it,  mamma  ?  "  Gladys  in- 
quired anxiously.  "  Aunt  Theodora  said  you 
thought  children  were  more  comfortable  with 
short  hair  in  hot  weather.  We  were  sure 
you  would  be  pleased.  Aunt  Theodora  said 
we  could  have  it  done,  and  Essie  was  hav- 
ing her  hair  cut,  and  it  was  such  a  good 
chance ;  and  you  were  away,  so  we  could  not 
ask  you." 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  Essie  to  have  that 
long,  straight  mane  of  hers  cut,  but  your  curly 
hair  was  so  picturesque  and  so  pretty  !  Oh, 
my  darlings !  I  shall  never  have  my  curly- 
headed  little  girls  any  more  !  "  and  she  sank 
tearfully  into  a  chair  in  the  studio. 

Gladys's  golden  cropped  head  was  instantly 
in  her  mother's  lap,  but  the  cropped  brown 
head  of  Dora  was  defiant. 

"  Aunt  Theodora  said  "  —  she  began. 

"  You  should  not  have  minded  what  your 
Aunt  Theodora  said.  You  should  not  have 
had  your  hair  cut  without  asking  me.  You 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          115 

were  very  naughty  children.  Aunt  Theodora 
is  not  your  mother." 

"  Dear  mamma,"  said  Gladys,  "  dear,  dear, 
darling  mamma,  I  am  so  sorry  ! " 

"  Oh !  you  don't  seem  like  my  little  girls  ! 
This  is  too  much !  I  can  never  forgive  her. 
Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  How  pretty  your  hair 
was !  And  it  may  never  curl  again.  It  may 
make  a  difference  all  your  lives.  I  can  never, 
never  forgive  her." 

The  little  girls  looked  at  their  mother  in  a 
wondering  way.  They  felt  vaguely  that  they 
had  been  very  naughty,  but  that  Aunt  Theo- 
dora had  been  very  naughty,  too.  There  was 
some  comfort  in  this  reflection. 

When  Edward  hurried  in  a  little  late  to 
tea,  he  could  not  but  notice  that  something 
was  amiss,  as  he  glanced  at  his  wife's  flushed 
face.  What  is  the  matter  now?  he  thought 
in  dismay,  as  he  talked  with  elaborate  gayety 
of  Frank  Compton's  latest  domestic  misfor- 
tune, the  discharge  of  Nora,  his  cook,  for  in- 
temperance. "  The  poor  fellow  seems  fated," 
he  ended. 

There  was  an  ominous  silence,  broken  at 
last  by  Marie,  who  asked  him  if  he  had  seen 
the  children. 


116  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  The  children  ?  No.  Has  anything  hap- 
pened to  them  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

'"Yes.  Theodora  has  had  their  hair  cut," 
she  announced  in  tragic  tones. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  "  he  said  with  relief. 

"  All  ?  "  Marie's  lip  quivered,  and  she  looked 
at  her  husband  reproachfully.  She  felt  the 
hot  tears  rising  to  her  eyes,  and  she  had  a 
desperate  wish  to  keep  from  giving  way  be- 
fore her  sister-in-law.  "You  used  to  like 
their  curly  hair,"  she  managed  to  say. 

"  Marie,"  said  Theodora,  "  I  am  very  sorry 
I  had  their  hair  cut,  as  I  have  spent  the  last 
half  hour  in  telling  you,  but  the  mischief  is 
done  and  cannot  be  undone." 

"  No,  it  can't,"  Marie  assented  drearily. 

"  It  is  better  than  if  it  had  to  be  cut  because 
they  had  the  typhoid  fever,"  Edward  sug- 
gested soothingly. 

At  these  words  Marie  precipitately  left  the 
table. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  Edward,"  Theodora  said 
penitently.  "  I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  con- 
sulted her,  but  I  never  thought  she  would 
take  it  in  this  way.  It  is  all  my  fault." 

"  It  is  partly  the  heat,"  he  said,  "  and  she 
has  n't  got  back  her  strength." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          117 

That  night,  as  Edward  soothed  and  com- 
forted his  wife,  telling  her  she  was  dearer  to 
him  than  six  Theodoras,  he  wondered  gloomily 
what  the  outcome  of  all  this  was  to  be. 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  he  proceeded  with  af- 
fected cheerfulness,  "  think  how  grateful  we 
ought  to  be  that  I  have  n't  half  a  dozen  sisters, 
dearest.  Fancy  six  Theodoras  planning  our 
life  for  us !  Let  us  remember  to  be  thankful 
for  all  our  mercies." 

"  Edward,  I  wish  you  would  ever  take  things 
seriously." 

He  had  been  trying,  poor  fellow,  not  to  take 
things  too  seriously.  "  Little  girl,"  he  said 
gently,  "  it  was  only  the  other  night  that  you 
told  me  I  was  too  hard  on  her." 

"I  know  she  is  good,  but  she  is  turning 
me  into  a  shrew.  If  she  would  only  go  away, 
I  think  I  could  be  myself  again.  How  I  wish 
she  would  get  married !  but  she  is  so  conscien- 
tious she  never  will  leave  us  for  any  other  rea- 
son, and  there  is  nobody  for  her  to  marry." 

"  There  is  old  Frank,"  he  suggested.  "  The 
poor  fellow  needs  looking  after  sadly." 

"  Frank  will  never  think  of  marrying  again," 
she  said,  shocked  at  her  husband's  levity. 


118          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"She  would  just  suit  him,"  Edward  went 
on,  pleased  with  this  new  idea,  "  for  he  likes 
order  and  neatness  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  he  admires  her  immensely.  He  would  be 
much  better  off  if  he  were  married.  Marie,  I 
have  a  brilliant  idea ;  I  mean  to  offer  him  — 
Theodora ! " 


IX. 

A  FEW  days  after  this  conversation,  Edward 
was  summoned  to  the  telephone. 

"  Can't  you  come  down  and  spend  the  even- 
ning  with  me  ?  "  Frank  Compton  asked.  "  I 
haven't  a  servant  in  the  house,  and  I  can't 
leave  Essie." 

"What 'sup  now?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  when  you  come.  I  don't  care 
to  shout  my  woes  through  the  telephone." 

"  This  is  the  worst  yet,"  Frank  said,  as  the 
two  friends  were  sitting  together  in  his  study. 
"  Marianne,  whom  I  thought  such  a  treasure, 
and  who  was  doing  the  cooking  as  well  as  her 
own  work,  has  decamped." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  However,  /  don't  call 
decamping  so  bad  as  getting  drunk." 

"  But  she  has  gone  off  with  a  lot  of  our 
spoons  and  forks.  She  was  going  to  be  mar- 
ried and  "  — 

A  shout  of  laughter  interrupted  his  revela- 
tions. "  Going  to  be  married,  is  she?  Well, 


120  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

it  is  a  good  scheme  to  gather  in  a  few  wed- 
ding presents.  I  am  surprised  that  you  don't 
sympathize  with  her,  Fanny,  my  love.  Why 
did  n't  you  throw  in  the  candlesticks,  as  the 
good  bishop  did  in  '  Les  Miserables '  ?  Hon- 
estly, Frank,  don't  you  think  she  would  have 
found  the  candlesticks  useful  in  her  new 
home?" 

"  You  may  laugh  as  much  as  you  please," 
Frank  said  in  an  offended  tone,  "but  you 
wouldn't  find  it  a  laughing  matter  if  your 
old  family  silver  had  been  stolen." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  steal  our  old  fam- 
ily letters.  But,  Frank,  surely  you  can  get  it 
again  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  she  had  decamped.  She  is 
married  and  starting  for  California  by  this 
time." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it.  This  is  the  most 
thrilling  thing  yet." 

"  I  noticed  that  there  were  very  few  pillow- 
cases and  towels  in  the  linen  closet,  but  Ma- 
rianne assured  me  that  there  had  been  an 
unusual  number  in  the  wash." 

"  And,  having  as  great  confidence  in  her  as 
you  have  in  me,  you  could  not  doubt  her  sweet 
face.  I  understand." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          121 

"  Two  evenings  ago  she  came  to  tell  me  that 
she  wanted  to  spend  the  night  with  her  sick 
sister.  Of  course  I  let  her  go,  and  when  she 
did  not  come  back  in  the  morning  I  supposed 
Lizzie  was  worse,  and  so  I  did  not  send  for 
her  until  evening ;  and  Essie  and  I  feasted  on 
canned  things  and  crackers.  After  tea,  Dr. 
Reycroft,  who  had  a  patient  living  in  the 
neighborhood,  offered  to  hunt  her  up,  for  I 
could  not  leave  Essie,  and  he  returned  with 
the  astounding  intelligence  that  she  had  not 
been  near  her  sister.  In  the  morning  I  went 
there,  and  found  Lizzie  in  an  excited  and  tear- 
ful state  of  mind  "  — 

"  AVearing  a  gray  gown,  and  a  black  hat 
with  red  roses  in  it,  I  presume?  " 

"  Come,  don't  sit  011  a  fellow  when  he 's 
down.  She  told  me  that  Marianne  had  doubt- 
less married  that  scamp  of  a  Patrick  O'Brien, 
in  spite  of  her  numerous  warnings  and  entrea- 
ties, and  started  for  California  with  him.  I 
went  home  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  for 
I  had  a  vision  of  pillow-cases  and  towels,  and 
I  made  an  inventory  of  my  possessions.  My 
stock  of  towels,  pillow-cases,  table-cloths,  and 
napkins  was  suspiciously  low ;  while  half  a 


122          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

dozen  small  forks,  two  large  ones,  half  a  dozen 
teaspoons,  and  a  little  silver  cream-pitcher  that 
was  my  mother's  had  vanished.  It  is  n't  so 
much  that  I  mind  what  she  has  taken  "  — 

"  There  you  go  again,  Monseigneur  Bien- 
venu  !  I  was  sure  you  would  have  given  her 
the  candlesticks  had  you  known  of  her  contem- 
plated departure." 

"  Will  you  keep  quiet  ?  It  is  an  awful 
set-down  to  one's  pride  to  find  one's  self  so 
mistaken  in  a  face.  Why,  that  girl  had  the 
sweetest,  the  most  honest  and  demure  face  in 
the  world.  I  trusted  her  with  everything.  And 
how  did  she  repay  me  ?  She  even  went  so  far 
as  to  plan  refurnishing  my  study  herself,  and 
ordering  too  much  of  everything,  so  that  she 
could  have  the  remnants.  That  scheme  did 
not  work,  however." 

"  Women  are  deceitful  creatures.  It  takes 
one  of  their  own  sex  to  find  them  out.  Both 
Marie  and  Theo  said  they  never  liked  that 
girl's  face.  Theo  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
she  would  not  trust  her  out  of  her  sight." 

"Did  she?  I  tell  you,  Ned,  such  an  ex- 
perience makes  one  marvel  at  the  intuition 
of  women,  and  at  their  brains,  too.  It  takes 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          123 

the  brain  of  a  Napoleon  to  run  a  house.  I 
would  rather  write  twenty  sermons  than  keep 
house  one  week ;  yet  keeping  house  is  a 
thing  which  has  been  thrust  upon  me,  and 
is  likely  to  stay  with  me  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter,  for  I  can't  board,  on  account  of 
Essie." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  another  housekeeper  ?  " 

"  That  is  worse  than  anything  else.  Why, 
oh  why,  did  my  sister  ever  get  married  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  get  married  ?  " 

"  I  ?  I  have  so  much  to  offer  a  woman ! 
Not  that  I  have  n't  thought  of  it ;  and  last 
night  I  was  so  desperate  that  I  was  ready 
to  offer  myself  in  turn  to  every  woman  in 
the  parish  until  I  found  one  who  would  take 
me." 

"  You  would  n't  have  to  go  far." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  the  first  woman  you  lighted  upon 
would  be  only  too  glad  to  take  you." 

"  Don't,  Ned  ;  I  can't  stand  you  when  you 
are  like  that.  Women  are  not  so  anxious  to* 
marry." 

"  Did  I  say  they  were  ?  I  merely  meant 
that  you  are  uncommonly  attractive  to  the 


124  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

sex.  And  honestly,  Frank,  any  woman  would 
be  a  fool  not  to  take  you." 

"  I  'm  much  obliged  for  your  good  opinion, 
but  I  happen  to  be  equally  sure  that  any  wo- 
man would  be  a  fool  to  take  me.  It  would  be 
an  awkward  matter  to  ask  a  woman  to  be  your 
wife  when  you  were  not  in  love  with  her." 

"  It  would,  rather,"  Edward  admitted  ;  "  but 
you  might  strike  one  who  was  unromantic." 

"  Ned,  you  little  appreciate  your  blessings, 
with  a  wife  and  sister  both  devoted  to  you, 
and  ready  to  shield  you  from  the  wear  and 
tear  of  every-day  life.  I  have  spent  my  whole 
day  in  the  intelligence-offices  in  Boston,  and 
I  can't  find  any  '  lady  '  who  will  be  willing, 
for  love  or  money,  to  '  accommodate '  me  until 
my  summer  vacation." 

"  Don't  you  want  Theodora  to  go  to  the  in- 
telligence-offices for  you  ?  She  got  a  splendid 
servant  for  us.  She  has  a  way  with  them,  and 
she  has  wonderful  insight  into  character." 

"  She  has  indeed,"  said  Frank,  with  a  lit- 
tle laugh  that  Edward  supposed  merely  re- 
lated to  Marianne.  "  But,  Ned,  I  could  never 
allow  your  sister  to  do  a  thing  of  that  kind  for 
me." 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          125 

"  She  'd  like  it.  Theo  has  a  morbid  love  of 
being  of  use !  and  if  she  were  to  run  down  to 
Boston  for  a  day,  that  would  give  me  a  holi- 
day. You  don't  appreciate  your  blessings  in 
not  having  to  keep  your  nose  at  the  grind- 
stone." 

"  That  is  good  !  You  merely  copy  old  let- 
ters for  two  hours  in  the  morning.  What 
would  you  say  if  you  had  to  write  a  sermon 
every  week  and  run  a  parish,  besides  running 
your  house  ?  " 

"  I  should  blow  my  brains  out,  Fanny,  my 
love,  or  else,"  he  added  boldly,  "  I  should 
marry  Theodora  Davidson." 

"  How  dare  you !  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  should  dare  ;  it  would 
take  a  good  deal  of  courage." 

"  Your  sister  is  " 

"  A  fine  girl,  but  unromantic,  —  quite  unro- 
mantic,  —  Fanny  dear,  which  in  this  case  I 
should  say  would  be  a  good  thing.  She  has  a 
perfect  genius  for  running  a  house,  and  she 
ought  to  have  a  home  of  her  own.  She  loves 
to  sacrifice  herself,  too.  Indeed,  in  my  long 
experience  of  this  wicked  world,  I  don't  think 
I  have  ever  known  any  one  who  was  so  good. 


126     THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

By  the  way,  you  were  not  at  town-meeting 
the  other  night  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  Marianne's  evening  out,  and  I 
had  to  stay  with  Essie." 

"  You  didn't  miss  much." 

They  discussed  the  town-meeting  and  kin- 
dred subjects  for  an  hour  or  more,  during 
which  time  Frank  was  very  absent. 

When  Edward  rose  to  go,  he  said  carelessly, 
"  Well,  Frank,  shall  Theo  get  you  a  couple 
of  servants  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  No,"  his  friend  implied  with  a  hot  flush. 
"  I  could  not  think  of  troubling  Miss  David- 
son." 

"  These  household  developments  must  have 
a  bad  effect  upon  Essie,"  Edward  called  back 
insinuatingly  from  the  doorstep. 

"  They  have.  I  am  very  much  worried 
about  her,  for  she  is  a  nervous,  excitable  lit- 
tle thing." 

"  If  he  does  take  up  with  my  suggestion,  it 
will  be  a  mighty  good  thing  for  us,  and  it  will 
be  a  good  thing  for  him,  too,"  Edward  re- 
flected, as  he  wended  his  way  home.  "  It  is  a 
great  deal  better  to  have  your  house  kept  by 
a  woman  who  manages  it  too  well  than  to 
have  no  one  to  keep  it  at  all." 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          127 

Of  course  Mr.  Compton's  parishioners  were 
immensely  kind  during  his  tribulations,  and 
invitations  to  dinner  and  tea  came  in  for  him 
and  Essie  by  the  score.  They  took  most  of 
their  dinners  with  the  Davidsons,  and  Frank 
had  a  conscious  manner  whenever  he  was  in 
Theodora's  company.  Sometimes  he  would 
sit  for  five  minutes  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her 
face  while  she  was  sewing  or  reading,  for 
she  always  went  on  with  her  own  pursuits  if 
Marie  or  Edward  was  present  to  entertain 
him.  If  she  chanced  to  glance  up  and  find 
his  eyes  upon  her,  he  would  change  color. 
His  blushes  annoyed  her.  She  thought  that 
a  man  who  was  more  than  thirty  years  old 
ought  to  have  gained  sufficient  self-control  to 
prevent  such  an  obvious  sign  of  embarrass- 
ment. To  be  sure,  he  had  an  uncommonly 
fair  complexion.  She  could  not  account  for 
this  sudden  change  in  his  demeanor.  If  she 
had  been  another  kind  of  woman,  and  he 
a  different  sort  of  man,  she  would  have 
fancied  that  he  was  in  love  with  her ;  but  as 
she  had  never  had  a  lover,  and  as  his  affec- 
tions were  known  to  be  irretrievably  appropri- 
ated, the  idea  merely  flashed  into  her  mind 


128          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

to  be  dismissed  as  preposterous.  She  finally 
settled  down  to  the  belief  that  some  officious 
parishioner  must  have  coupled  her  name  with 
his,  and,  having  accepted  this  theory,  she  made 
an  effort  to  be  more  friendly  than  usual,  that 
he  might  see  how  needless  it  was  to  feel  any 
embarrassment  in  her  society. 

Frank's  trips  to  the  intelligence-office  were 
at  last  productive  of  one  old  woman,  with  very 
poor  sight  and  an  equally  bad  disposition, 
who  kindly  condescended  to  make  his  house 
her  home  until  his  vacation.  There  was  no 
reason  now  why  he  should  not  have  his  meals, 
such  as  they  were,  at  home ;  but  while  this 
simplified  life,  it  did  not  add  to  its  gayety,  for 
although  a  dinner  of  herbs,  where  love  is,  is 
better  than  a  stalled  ox  and  hatred  therewith, 
it  is  generally  admitted  that  a  stalled  ox  is  a 
decided  improvement  upon  a  dinner  of  herbs, 
provided  the  love  in  the  two  cases  is  equal. 
It  was  a  little  depressing  to  settle  back  to 
poor  dinners,  enlivened  merely  by  his  turbu- 
lent little  daughter,  after  the  pleasant  glimpses 
into  the  outside  world,  and  the  delicious  fare, 
that  his  varied  meals  had  afforded. 

The  most   sympathetic   of  Mr.  Compton's 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          129 

many  friends,  with  the  exception  of  the  David- 
sons, were  his  next-door  neighbors,  the  Rey- 
crofts.  Dr.  Reycroft  was  a  small,  slightly  built 
man,  with  a  slouching  gait  and  an  uncommonly 
plain  face.  In  spite  of  these  disadvantages, 
however,  he  produced  the  impression  of  hav- 
ing unusual  power.  His  patients  were  often 
afraid  of  him,  for  he  was  sometimes  brusque 
and  sarcastic,  but  they  never  questioned  his 
skill.  After  having  railed  at  marriage  for 
many  years,  he  suddenly  took  the  town  by 
storm  by  becoming  engaged,  when  he  was 
past  fifty,  to  Helen  Gordon,  a  gentle,  unselfish 
woman,  who  was  no  longer  young,  and  who 
never  had  been  beautiful.  It  proved*  a  most 
happy  marriage,  and  turned  the  doctor  from  a 
detractor  of  women  into  their  ardent  cham- 
pion. Helen  Reycroft  and  Theodora  were  on 
some  of  the  same  committees,  and  a  strong 
friendship  had  grown  up  between  them.  Mr. 
Compton  and  Essie  had  taken  their  break- 
fasts with  the  Reycrofts  during  their  cheer- 
less condition,  and  a  meal  seldom  passed 
without  some  allusion  to  Miss  Davidson.  Dr. 
Reycroft  often  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  her 
practical  ability  as  director  of  the  new  hospi- 


130          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

tal,  and  Mrs.  Reycroft  descanted  upon  her 
good  judgment,  or  her  sincerity,  or  her  devo- 
tion in  friendship. 

"Compton,  you  ought  to  marry  again," 
Dr.  Reycroft  said  abruptly  one  night,  as  the 
two  friends  walked  home  from  the  village 
together.  They  had  paused  as  they  reached 
the  doctor's  gate.  "  When  I  see  that  cheerful 
light  in  my  house,  and  think  of  all  it  means  to 
me,  and  then  look  next  door  at  your  blank 
walls,  it  is  more  than  I  can  stand." 

"  You  did  n't  always  hold  these  views  about 
marriage,"  the  younger  man  returned  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  have  been  converted,  my  boy.  I  was  a 
fool  for  thirty  years,  but  that  does  not  make 
me  any  more  lenient  to  another  fellow's  folly." 

"  I  have  had  my  chance." 

"  Look  here,  Compton,  romance  and  con- 
stancy are  mighty  fine  things,  but  they  are 
not  especially  '  filling  for  the  price.'  Won't 
you  come  in  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I  must  go  home  and  write 
my  sermon." 

The  doctor's  face  suddenly  became  radiant 
at  this  point,  for  a  graceful  woman  in  a  lilac 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          131 

gown   appeared    in   the    doorway,    holding    a 
lamp  in  her  hand. 

"I'm  coming  directly,  Helen,"  he  called 
out.  "  Good-night,  Coinpton ;  I  'in  sorry  you 
can't  make  us  a  call,"  and  he  strode  hastily 
into  the  brightness,  while  Compton  let  himself 
into  his  lonely  house. 


"  Miss  DAVIDSON,  I  wonder  if  you  would 
like  to  climb  to  the  top  of  the  hill  with  me?  " 
Frank  Compton  asked,  a  few  days  later. 
"  There  is  a  fine  view,  and  it  is  a  glorious 
afternoon  for  a  walk." 

Theodora  shut  the  book  which  she  had  been 
reading,  and  rose  with  alacrity,  for  she  was 
always  ready  for  a  climb. 

It  was  Marie's  birthday,  and  the  Davidsons, 
Mrs.  Reycroft,  and  the  Comptons  had  gone 
on  a  picnic  up  the  river.  They  had  finished 
the  appetizing  repast  that  had  been  set  out  in 
the  wood  on  the  border  of  the  stream,  and 
Edward  had  taken  the  children  for  a  row, 
while  Marie  and  Mrs.  Reycroft  were  making 
a  sketch  of  the  three  graceful  arches  of  the 
stone  bridge  and  the  drooping  willows. 

The  rocky  path  taken  by  Frank  and  Theo-. 
dora  was  hedged  in  by  a  tangle  of  bushes  and 
some  young  maples,  which  were  still  so  small 
that  they  seemed  like  a   grove  for   children. 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          133 

It  was  impossible  to  do  much  talking  until 
they  came  out  on  the  broad,  open  stretch  of 
the  hilltop,  when  they  turned  and  looked 
back  at  a  charming  view.  Far  below  them 
the  river  wound  its  tranquil  way  between 
banks  of  unmown  grass,  sprinkled  with  white 
daisies,  yellow  buttercups,  and  pink  clover ; 
and  farther  down  the  stream,  the  town  of 
Edgecomb,  with  its  white  houses  and  two 
slender  white  spires,  made  a  peaceful  picture 
in  the  frame  of  the  landscape.  A  long  way 
off,  they  could  see  the  miniature  white  vil- 
lage that  was  consecrated  to  the  dead,  but  at 
this  distance  the  dwelling-place  of  the  living 
seemed  equally  dream-like  and  silent. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is  !  "  said  Theodora. 

"  Yes,"  Frank  assented.  "  Sometimes  I 
think  this  peaceful  Massachusetts  farming 
country,  with  its  low  hills  and  its  green  fields 
that  seem  so  suggestive  of  prosperity,  is  more 
beautiful  than  the  sterner  New  England  of 
the  north." 

Theodora  settled  herself  comfortably  in  a 
nook  in  the  hillside,  and  took  out  the  small 
book  that  she  had  slipped  into  the  bag  that 
hung  from  the  belt  of  her  blue  serge  gown. 


134          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"  Miss  Davidson,"  her  companion  expostu- 
lated, "  do  you  think  it  polite  to  read  when  I 
have  invited  you  to  take  this  walk?  I  want 
you  to  devote  yourself  to  me." 

"  I  was  going  to  read  aloud  something  that 
I  am  sure  you  will  like." 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  Sill's  poems  ?  I 
am  surprised  that  you  care  for  his  poetry." 

"  What  an  unflattering  opinion  you  must 
have  of  my  taste  !  To  me  '  Field  Notes  '  is 
the  most  beautiful  poem  about  nature  that  I 
know.  Listen  to  this :  — 

"  '  So  all  that  day 

In  the  lap  of  the  green  earth  I  lay, 
And  drinking  of  the  sunshine's  flood.'  " 

She  read  the  rest  of  that  verse  and  a  part 
of  the  next :  — 

"  '  Were  men  all  wise  and  -women  true, 
Might  youth  as  calm  as  manhood  be, 
And  might  calm  manhood  keep  its  lore 
And  still  be  young,  and,  one  thing  more, 
Old  Earth  were  fair  enough  for  me.'  " 

"  I  suspect  it  is  the  '  one  thing  more  '  that 
most  of  us  miss,"  he  broke  in.  "  However, 
there  are  some  fortunate  beings  who  seem  to 
have  exactly  what  they  want.  You,  for  in- 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          135 

stance,  are  particularly  well  placed,  for  you 
have  many  of  the  privileges  of  a  married 
woman  without  her  responsibilities." 

"  Oh,  but  nothing  is  mine,"  she  cried,  with 
a  sudden  ring  of  pain  in  her  voice.  "  I  can't 
do  what  I  should  like  for  the  children,  be- 
cause the  methods  of  their  father  and  mother 
are  so  opposed  to  mine.  Of  course  it  is  a 
delight  to  live  with  my  brother,  but  I  some- 
times feel  like  an  outsider ;  it  can't  but  be 
different  from  what  it  was  when  we  were 
growing  up  together." 

"  You  are  all  the  more  necessary  to  him. 
The  life  of  your  household  seems  ideal  to  me. 
Mrs.  Davidson  is  the  most  charming  woman 
in  the  world,  but  she  is  not  very  practical, 
whereas  you  "  — 

"  Whereas  I  am  not  the  most  charming 
woman  in  the  world,  but  I  am  practical,"  she 
said,  with  a  little  smile.  "  Yes,  I  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they  need  me." 

Frank  looked  earnestly  at  her  strong  face. 
She  had  that  indescribable  attraction  that 
comes  from  a  fine  physique  and  an  absence  of 
self-consciousness,  while  certain  contradictions 
in  her  character  suggested  reserves  of  feeling 


136          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

that  made  her  interesting.  To-day  she  seemed 
overflowing  with  health,  and  moral  and  physi- 
cal strength,  and  she  was  as  refreshing  and 
stimulating  as  mountain  air  to  her  more 
highly  strung  and  sensitive  companion. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  gave  you  the  idea  that  I 
am  not  entirely  happy,"  she  said  presently. 
"I  am  very. contented,  as  a  general  thing, 
only  the  occupation  of  filling  in  gaps  is  not 
so  exciting  to  the  filler  as  it  seems  to  the  spec- 
tator. Still  it  is  a  comfort  to  have  gaps  to 
fill;  only — married  people  seem  so  sufficient 
to  themselves." 

"  Do  you  ever  wish  that  you  were  mar- 
ried ?  "  he  inquired  abruptly. 

"  It  has  never  come  near  enough  to  me  for 
me  to  think  much  about  it,  but  I  am  sure  that 
marriage  is  almost  always  the  happiest  lot  for 
a  woman." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  he  asked  im- 
pulsively. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  vexed  to  feel  the  color 
rising  to  her  face. 

"  Miss  Davidson,  do  you  suppose  that  you 
could  ever  like  me  well  enough  to  be  my 
wife  ?  " 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          137 

"  Mr.  Compton !  "  The  two  words  con- 
tained a  whole  language  of  meaning. 

"  I  did  n't  intend  to  ask  you  in  this  blunt 
fashion.  I  had  n't  any  idea  of  saying  any- 
thing about  it  at  present,  and  I  suppose  I 
have  startled,  perhaps  shocked  you ;  but  if 
you  knew  how  wretched  I  have  been  of  late, 
and  how  worried  about  Essie,  and  what  a 
comfort  you  are  to  me  with  your  calm  tem- 
perament and  your  practical  ways,  and  how 
much  I  like  you  "  — 

"  But  you  do  not  love  me  ! " 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  looked 
straight  at  her  with  an  appealing  glance.  "  I 
don't  want  to  deceive  you,"  he  began,  "  and  I 
suppose  it  is  only  fair  to  say  that  I  never  can 
care  for  any  woman  as  I  once  cared ;  but  I 
like  you  immensely,  and  the  older  I  grow  the 
more  sure  I  feel  that  a  strong  friendship 
between  a  man  and  a  woman  is  a  good  basis 
for  marriage,  supposing  there  is  no  possibility 
for  the  other  thing.  It  isn't  as  if  we  were 
either  of  us  very  young." 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is  with  you,"  said 
Theodora,  "  I  can't  put  myself  in  your  place ; 
but  I  know  that  at  twenty-nine  I  have  the 


138          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

possibility  of  loving,  and  that  I  should  not 
think  it  right  to  marry  unless  I  did  love,  and 
that  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  I  suppose  you  despise  me  ?  "  he  remarked 
after  a  little  pause. 

"  I  don't  despise  you ;  on  the  contrary,  I 
feel  very  sorry  for  you.  You  must  have  suf- 
fered a  great  deal  of  annoyance  before  you, 
a  romantic  and  chivalrous  person  by  nature, 
could  have  made  up  your  mind  to  do  a  thing 
like  this." 

"  Please  don't !  you  have  made  me  feel  con- 
temptible enough  already." 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  make  you  feel  con- 
temptible ;  I  only  want  you  to  realize  that 
there  is  one  thing  worse  than  loving  again, 
and  that  is  to  marry  without  love." 

He  was  silent.  She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and 
began  to  walk  hastily  towards  the  path  that 
led  down  the  hillside. 

"  Do  you  despise  me  too  thoroughly  to  be 
my  friend  any  more  ?  "  he  asked  humbly. 

"  No.  I  am  willing  to  be  as  much  your 
friend  as  I  have  ever  been." 

The  humor  in  the  situation  appealed  to  him 
at  this  point,  and  he  gave  a  short  laugh,  which 
irritated  Theodora. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          139 

" '  Were  men  all  wise  and  women  true,'  "  he 
quoted.  "  I  don't  think  either  you  or  I  can 
be  accused  of  rhetorical  flourishes.  If  you 
had  n't  been  the  most  truthful  woman  I  know, 
I  should  not  have  told  you  the  truth  in  this 
bald  way ;  but  you  are  so  honest  and  straight- 
forward that  I  did  not  think  it  fair  not  to  be 
absolutely  frank  with  you,  and  you  seemed  so 
unromantic  and  so  sensible  that  I  thought "  — 

She  did  not  come  to  his  assistance,  and  he 
lamely  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

Theodora  paused  for  a  moment  to  look  down 
at  the  view.  She  could  not  help  thinking  of 
the  fascinating  Estelle  Compton,  the  "  beloved 
wife,"  who  lay  buried  in  that  distant  cemetery, 
and  of  the  passionate  attachment  which  had 
preceded  her  marriage.  It  seemed  the  irony 
of  fate  that  Francis  Compton,  the  hero  of  that 
romance,  a  man  full  of  feeling  and  sentiment, 
should  make  her  this  bald  offer,  unadorned  by 
any  pretense  of  love,  and  that  she,  the  practical 
and  matter-of-fact  Theodora  Davidson,  should 
find  it  insufficient. 

She  began  to  walk  swiftly  down  the  path, 
but  her  progress  was  stayed  by  a  blackberry- 
bush  which  caught  in  the  folds  of  her  gown. 


140  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

She  paused  to  extricate  herself,  and,  as  she 
glanced  back,  she  saw  Frank  Coinpton's  for- 
lorn and  dispirited  face  a  little  above  her. 

"  Miss  Davidson,"  he  began,  "  I  said  what  I 
had  to  say  very  clumsily,  but  I  am  desper- 
ately unhappy ;  that  is  the  truth  of  the  mat- 
ter. I  never  should  have  had  the  audacity 
to  ask  you  what  I  did,  however,  if  you  had 
seemed  wholly  satisfied  with  your  own  life.  I 
had  always  supposed  you  were  perfectly  con- 
tented, and  then  this  afternoon,  when  you 
spoke  of  sometimes  feeling  like  an  outsider, 
and  of  —  I  thought  —  I  was  a  fool,  of  course 
—  I  thought  that  perhaps  we  could  be  hap- 
pier together  than  apart.  I  thought "  — 

"  Don't  think  any  more  about  it,"  she  said, 
impatiently  cutting  short  his  halting  speech; 
then  she  added  more  gently,  "  Happiness  is  not 
entirely  over  for  a  man  when  he  is  only  a  little 
past  thirty.  You  will  be  a  great  deal  hap- 
pier some  day  than  you  are  now ;  only,  no 
matter  how  desperate  you  may  get,  don't  ever 
fancy  again  that  you  have  the  right  to  ask  a 
woman  to  marry  you  when  you  have  merely 
a  cold  regard  for  her  domestic  virtues." 

"  Miss  Davidson,  you  do  me  injustice." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          141 

She  did  not  reply  to  this  observation,  but 
walked  quickly  down  the  hill,  that  she  might 
put  an  end  to  the  interview. 

In  the  watches  of  the  night  she  reproached 
herself  for  her  severity.  She  knew  that  it  had 
arisen,  not  so  much  from  the  fact  that  an  offer 
had  been  made  in  which  there  was  no  love,  but 
from  the  circumstance  that  the  offer  had  been 
made  to  her.  It  gave  her  a  sore  and  angry 
feeling  to  think  that  she  was  so  different  from 
the  rest  of  her  sex  that  a  man  had  dared  to 
tell  her  that  he  supposed  her  too  sensible  to 
care  for  love  and  romance.  She  thought  of 
her  own  prosaic  girlhood,  as  free  from  all  dis- 
tractions of  sentiment  as  if  there  had  been 
no  men  in  the  world,  and  contrasted  it  with 
Marie's  youth,  which  had  been  filled  with  a 
succession  of  romances.  She  herself  did  not 
want  a  succession  of  romances ;  she  would  have 
been  content  with  one  true  lover.  She  knew 
that  she  could  love  devotedly,  but  this  latent 
capacity  in  her  nature  had  never  been  called 
out.  Frank  Compton  was  not  the  man  to  do 
it;  he  was  weaker  than  she.  She  could  not 
love  a  man  who  was  not  stronger  than  herself, 
and  yet  it  was  astonishing  how  the  fact  of  the 


142          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOBA. 

offer,  bald  and  prosaic  though  it  was,  softened 
her  feelings  towards  him.  After  all,  he  had 
not  been  so  much  to  blame.  What  was  the 
poor  man  to  do  ?  He  honestly  believed  that 
he  could  not  love  again,  but  was  he  therefore 
to  lead  a  lonely  life  always,  and  a  life  full  of 
petty  cares,  when  he  had  it  in  his  power  to 
materially  improve  his  condition?  His  con- 
duct was  not  ideal,  certainly,  but  this  was  not 
an  ideal  world.  Alas,  alas !  it  was  far  from 
an  ideal  world  !  She  thought  again  of  Marie. 
Had  she  been  free,  how  easily  Frank  Compton 
could  have  fallen  in  love  with  her !  How  little 
would  he  have  dared  to  talk  of  quiet  friend- 
ship !  At  one  glance  from  Marie's  brown 
eyes,  an  appealing,  conscious  glance,  he  would 
have  thrown  his  old  scruples  of  constancy  to 
the  winds,  and  he  would  have  loved  her,  if  she 
had  been  free.  There  were  plenty  of  Marie 
Davidsons,  and  before  long  some  pretty  girl 
with  a  taste  for  flirtation  would  make  Frank 
Compton  forget  the  past.  Why  was  she  her- 
self so  different  from  other  women?  She  was 
fine-looking,  she  was  intelligent,  she  was  effi- 
cient, and  she  was  not  unattractive  to  men ; 
they  liked  her  as  they  liked  an  aunt  or  a  sister. 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          143 

Was  there  no  place  in  the  economy  of  the 
world  for  a  sensible  woman,  except  in  virtually 
joining  the  ranks  of  the  men  ?  It  was  unfair. 
She,  too,  would  like  to  love  and  to  marry,  and 
to  be  loved  devotedly  in  return.  But  it  was 
not  to  be.  And  why?  On  account  of  her 
very  virtues ;  simply  because  she  was  so  high- 
minded  that  she  scorned  flirtation  and  affecta- 
tion. This  was  how  she  put  it  to  herself  in  the 
watches  of  the  night.  She  would  like  a  strong, 
manly,  ardent  lover,  and  instead  of  this  she 
had  had  an  offer  without  love  from  the  gentlest 
and  most  feminine  of  his  sex.  She  had  a  burn- 
ing sense  of  envy  of  the  women  like  Marie 
who  could  please  so  easily  that  to  charm  be- 
came to  them  a  thing  of  course.  It  was  simply 
impossible  for  her  to  marry  without  love,  and 
it  was  equally  impossible  for  her  to  love  Frank 
Compton,  even  supposing  he  had  loved  her ; 
but  she  wished  that  she  were  a  weak  woman 
instead  of  a  strong  one.  She  wished,  for  once 
in  her  life,  that  she  were  a  fragile,  dependent, 
even  a  frivolous  girl. 

"  Look  here,  Theo,"  her  brother  asked  her 
the  next  morning,  "  what  did  Frank  say  to 
you  yesterday  ?  You  both  looked  so  terribly 


144          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

conscious  when  you  came  down  that  hill  that 
I  could  have  sworn  that  he  had  been  offering 
you  nothing  less  than  his  hand  and  heart." 

"Not  that  exactly." 

"  Theodora,  I  don't  want  to  seem  officious 
or  meddlesome,  but  if  Frank  ever  should  say 
anything  of  that  kind  to  you,  I  want  just 
to  mention  that  he  is  the  finest  fellow  I  know, 
and  that  any  girl  would  be  lucky  to  get  him." 

"  Edward,"  said  Theodora,  "  you  once  told 
me  that  I  could  live  with  you  always,  and  you 
can  set  your  mind  quite  at  ease  on  the  subject 
of  my  ever  wanting  to  do  anything  else." 


XI. 

IF  it  was  not  so  satisfactory  to  have  Theo- 
dora permanently  under  his  roof  as  Edward 
had  once  fondly  dreamed  it  would  be,  never- 
theless there  were  compensations  which  he 
was  quick  to  seize.  To  be  unhappy  was  so 
foreign  to  his  nature  that  it  was  a  necessity 
for  him  to  make  the  best  of  any  inevitable  sit- 
uation. In  the  old  days  he  could  seldom  leave 
home,  for,  unexacting  as  Marie  was  in  many 
respects,  she  demanded  his  constant  companion- 
ship. There  was  no  reason  now,  he  told  him- 
self half  guiltily,  why  he  should  not  occasion- 
ally go  off  on  little  pleasure  trips,  as  he  could 
leave  his  sister  with  Marie  and  the  children. 
Accordingly,  one  day  in  early  June,  he  casually 
remarked  to  his  wife  that  he  had  agreed  to  go 
with  some  friends  to  the  Rangeley  Lakes  for  a 
fortnight's  fishing  trip.  He  was  prepared  to 
meet  with  the  opposition  that  he  received,  and 
he  could  not  bear  to  make  Marie  unhappy  in 
her  weak  and  nervous  state,  but  it  had  come 


146          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

to  a  point  where  lie  must  choose  between  mak- 
ing her  unhappy  and  being  unhappy  himself. 
Home  was  no  longer  the  charming,  restful 
spot  it  had  once  been ;  and  if  Theo  was  to  live 
with  them  always,  and  persist  in  making  him 
write  biography  when  the  thermometer  was 
95°  in  the  shade,  why,  hang  it !  he  must  take 
an  occasional  vacation. 

Marie  was  in  despair  at  the  idea  of  a  fort- 
night of  Theodora's  society  without  Edward. 
She  was  of  so  sensitive  a  nature  that  she  was 
as  fully  aware  of  her  disapproval  as  if  she  had 
told  her  all  that  was  in  her  heart ;  but  Theo- 
dora was  too  little  introspective,  perhaps  also 
too  unconscious  and  healthy-minded,  to  be  sen- 
sitive. It  did  not  often  occur  to  her  to  think 
whether  she  was  liked  or  disliked,  and  it  cer- 
tainly never  occurred  to  her  to  fancy  that  her 
sister-in-law  disliked  her.  Why  should  she, 
when  she,  Theodora,  was  devoted  to  her  and 
the  children  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul? 
She  was  blind  to  all  the  little  signs  that  would 
have  led  a  more  sensitive  woman  to  question 
the  strength  of  her  position,  and  was  not  in 
the  least  dismayed  at  the  thought  of  a  fort- 
night alone  with  her  brother's  wife,  for  Marie 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          147 

could  be  a  charming  companion  in  spite  of  her 
faults. 

When  Edward  went  away  on  his  journey, 
he  knew  that  he  departed  under  the  cloud  of 
Marie's  disapproval,  and  this  made  him  un- 
happy, as  he  longed  for  the  contentment  of 
the  whole  world,  and  especially  for  that  of 
his  wife ;  but,  unfortunately,  we  cannot  have 
every  circumstance  propitious,  and  he  was 
forced  to  be  satisfied  with  his  sister's  hearty 
sympathy. 

Edward's  absence  was  prolonged  beyond 
the  two  weeks,  as  Marie  had  felt  sure  it  would 
be,  and  she  received  only  a  few  lines  from  him 
at  rare  intervals.  In  her  nervous  state  she 
worked  herself  into  a  white  heat  of  worry, 
having  each  day  a  presentiment  that  some  ac- 
cident had  happened  to  her  husband,  until  a 
tardy  letter  would  assure  her  of  his  exuberant 
health  and  spirits,  and  then  dreading  that  in 
his  new-found  liberty  he  would  grow  tired  of 
the  restraints  of  home.  She  grew  paler  and 
weaker  so  rapidly  that  even  Theodora  was  at 
length  alarmed. 

"  Marie,  you  must  go  to  bed  early  and  get 
a  good,  long  night's  sleep,"  she  said  one  even- 


148  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ing  when  Edward  had  been  away  for  almost  a 
month.  "  I  can't  have  you  looking  so  ill  when 
my  brother  comes  back." 

"  It  does  not  signify  how  I  look,"  Marie 
replied  coldly,  as  she  bent  over  the  stocking 
that  she  was  darning. 

The  sharpness  of  a  uniformly  sweet-tem- 
pered person  is  always  a  disconcerting  surprise, 
and  Theodora  took  up  her  book  in  perturbed 
silence.  "  Poor  little  thing !  how  she  must  be 
worrying  about  him  to  answer  me  like  that !  " 
she  thought,  and  she  said  :  "  Marie,  it  is  only 
eight  days  since  we  have  heard  from  Edward, 
and  he  did  n't  write  for  almost  a  week  once 
before,  so  I  don't  think  there  is  any  reason  to 
be  anxious  about  him.  It  is  simply  that  he 
hates  to  write  letters." 

"  Why  should  I  worry  about  Edward  ?  " 
Marie  asked  petulantly. 

Theodora's  presence  was  intolerable  to  her. 
Her  optimism,  her  obtuseness,  her  blindness 
to  Edward's  faults,  all  united  to  make  her 
a  most  aggravating  companion ;  for  poor 
Marie  was  analyzing  her  husband  pitilessly, 
as  she  had  never  done  before.  "  He  lives  in 
the  present,"  she  thought.  "When  I  am  a 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          149 

part  of  his  present  he  is  fond  of  me,  but  as 
soon  as  he  leaves  ine  he  forgets  me.  He  has 
written  to  me  just  four  times  in  all  these 
weeks,  and  I  have  written  to  him  every  day. 
I  am  an  incident  in  his  life,  whereas  he  is  my 
world.  It  is  Theodora  who  is  responsible," 
she  reflected  bitterly,  "for  if  she  had  not 
been  here  to  make  his  home  uncomfortable, 
he  would  have  been  content  to  have  me  a  part 
of  his  present  always.  I  know  how  it  will  end. 
He  is  so  clever,  and  those  men  like  him  so 
much,  that  he  will  go  away  from  me  more  and 
more,  until  I  am  nothing  to  him.  Oh,  Theo- 
dora, good  woman  that  you  are,  what  harm 
you  have  wrought !  " 

"Let  me  mend  those  stockings,"  begged 
Theodora,  "  and  that  will  give  you  time  to 
read." 

Marie  turned  a  white  face  towards  her,  but 
she  controlled  herself  with  an  effort  and  said, 
in  her  usual  sweet  tones,  "  You  are  very  kind, 
but  I  don't  care  to  read." 

"  Give  me  one  at  least,  then ;  "  and  Theodora 
reached  over  and  took  up  a  small,  almost  heel- 
less  black  stocking. 

Marie   snatched   it   away.     "  I  like  to   do 


150  THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

them,  and  I  have  plenty  of  time.  You  are 
very  good,  dear,"  she  added  gently,  "  but  I 
have  been  letting  you  do  too  many  things." 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  I  love  dearly  to  do 
things  for  you,  if  that  is  all "  —  She  ended 
her  sentence  by  forcibly  taking  possession  of 
the  little  stocking. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  while  Theodora 
darned  away  neatly  and  swiftly  on  one  side  of 
the  table,  and  Marie  took  slow,  ineffective 
stitches  on  the  other.  These  silences  were 
growing  longer  and  longer  every  evening. 
It  was  a  stormy  night,  and  the  wind  was  blow- 
ing the  rain  in  great  gusts  against  the  window- 
panes. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  by  this  cheerful  fire  !  " 
said  Theodora  at  last.  "  I  am  glad  we  are 
not  out  in  the  storm." 

"  I  should  like  to  be  out  in  it."  As  Marie 
spoke,  one  gust  more  furious  than  the  rest 
fairly  shook  the  house. 

"  Is  n't  that  the  door-bell  ?  "  Theodora  asked 
presently.  "  One  can  hardly  hear  it  through 
this  tempest." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  door-bell,"  Marie  assented ; 
*'  some  one  has  ventured  out,"  and  both  women 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          151 

had  a  feeling  of  relief  that  their  tete-a-tete 
was  to  be  interrupted. 

"Mr.  Compton  is  here,"  the  maid  an- 
nounced. "  He  wants  to  see  you  in  the  entry, 
Miss  Theodora.  He  is  so  wet  that  he  won't 
come  in." 

As  Theodora  went  out  of  the  room  with 
heightened  color,  Marie  had  a  sickening  fore- 
boding that  he  had  come  to  urge  her  sister- 
in-law  to  marry  him.  Marie  had  a  firmly 
rooted  disbelief  in  all  second  marriages,  but 
in  this  case  she  felt  it  positive  sacrilege  for 
Frank  Compton  to  dream  of  putting  another 
woman  in  his  wife's  place ;  and,  as  if  to  aggra- 
vate the  keen  pain  which  the  thought  of  his 
defection  gave  her,  came  the  swift  certainty 
that  Theodora  would  make  him  miserable. 

When  the  sound  of  their  low  voices  ceased, 
and  the  front  door  opened  and  shut,  Marie 
went  out  into  the  hall. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  if  the  children  are  prop- 
erly covered  up,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  go  for  you,"  begged  Theodora, 
as  she  hastily  thrust  something  into  the  table 
drawer.  "  By  the  way,  Mr.  Compton  wanted 
to  know  if  Dora  and  Gladys  could  dine  with 
Essie  to-morrow." 


152  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  On  Sunday  ?  He  never  has  any  one  there 
on  Sunday." 

As  she  spoke,  her  eyes  wandered  to  the 
table  drawer.  In  her  haste,  Theodora  had  not 
done  her  work  thoroughly,  and  half  an  inch  of 
tell-tale  magenta  paper  was  visible.  At  sight 
of  it  the  current  of  Marie's  thoughts  changed 
with  lightning-like  rapidity. 

"  That  is  a  Pathfinder,"  she  said.  "  Why 
did  Frank  bring  it  here?  Is  Edward  ill?" 

Theodora  hesitated. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Tell  me  what  has 
happened  at  once !  "  Marie  demanded  breath- 
lessly. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  would  have  spared  you 
this  to-night  if  I  could.  It  is  nothing  serious," 
she  added  hastily,  as  she  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Marie's  blanched  face.  "  Edward  fell  and  cut 
his  hand  on  a  rock  a  week  ago.  At  first  they 
thought  it  of  no  account,  but  he  was  careless, 
and  it  is  badly  inflamed,  and  he  is  a  little 
feverish,  so,  as  his  friends  have  had  to  come 
home,  I  am  going  to  him  on  Monday." 

"  You  ?     I  shall  go  to  him." 

"  My  dear  child,  that  would  be  simply  sui- 
cidal. You  are  not  well  enough  to  take  the 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          153 

journey,  and  would  be  too  used  up  by  the  time 
you  reached  Camp  Bemis  to  nurse  Edward. 
Mr.  Compton  and  I  have  planned  it  all.  He 
came  to  say  that  he  would  gladly  take  care  of 
the  children  if  we  felt  we  could  both  leave 
home,  but  I  told  him  that  you  would  not  be 
strong  enough  to  go." 

"  Tell  me  all  you  know,"  Marie  entreated 
piteously.  "  What  did  Frank  say  ?  How  did 
he  hear?  Edward  must  be  very  ill.  I  am 
sure  you  are  keeping  something  back.  It  will 
kiU  me." 

"  I  am  keeping  nothing  back.  You  can  see 
for  yourself  just  how  things  are ;  here  is  the 
letter." 

Marie  devoured  its  contents  eagerly.  "  And 
both  those  men  have  left  him,"  she  cried  in- 
dignantly. "It  is  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Theodora,  how  can  you  take  it  so 
quietly?  Think  of  the  poor  fellow  suffering 
there  without  his  friends,  and  too  ill  to  come 
home !  Think  of  it,  Theodora  !  And  we  have 
been  calmly  living  on,  knowing  nothing  of  it ! 
They  ought  to  have  telegraphed  to  us  at  once." 

"  Don't  you  see  that  at  first  they  thought  it 
a  mere  scratch  ?  They  are  not  worried  about 


154  THE  COMING   OF   THEODORA. 

him  now,  or  they  would  not  have  left  him, 
but  I  shall  feel  easier  to  go  to  him.  This  was 
why  he  has  not  written,  for  it  was  his  right 
hand." 

Marie  sank  down  on  the  parlor  sofa,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  Poor  boy !  " 
she  moaned.  "  Yes,  this  was  why  he  has  not 
written,  and  I  thought  —  I  fancied  —  Is  n't 
there  a  Sunday  train  ?  I  must  go  to  him  at 
once.  Wounds  are  so  dangerous  !  Blood-poi- 
soning may  set  in,  and  he  may  die." 

"  My  dear,  don't  get  so  excited ;  there  is 
no  danger  of  that.  There  is  no  Sunday  train, 
but  on  Monday  "  — 

"  It  is  easy  for  you  to  be  calm,  for  he  is  not 
your  husband.  You  do  not  love  him  better 
than  any  one  in  the  whole  world." 

"  Marie,  I  do  love  him  better  than  any  one 
in  the  whole  world." 

"  You  do  not  love  him  as  I  love  him !  I 
love  him  so  much  that  heaven  itself  would  be 
a  wretched  place  without  him,  and  hell  would 
be  heaven  with  him  !  " 

"  My  dear  child,  you  must  n't  talk  in  this 
wild  way.  You  poor  thing,  you  are  trembling 
all  over.  I  wanted  to  prevent  this,  and  not  let 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          155 

you  know  of  the  accident  until  to-morrow,  for 
I  feared  "- 

"  I  would  rather  know  to-night ;  you  ought 
to  have  told  me  the  first  minute.  Theodora,  I 
can  bear  things  ;  I  am  not  a  child." 

"  No,  but  you  are  an  invalid  just  now,  and 
consequently  you  are  easily  upset  Go  to  bed, 
dear,  and  try  to  get  some  sleep." 

"Sleep?" 

"  Yes,  you  must  sleep  for  his  sake,  so  as  to 
be  strong  and  well  when  he  comes  back  to 
you." 

"  I  shall  go  to  him." 

"  Marie,  be  reasonable.  Dr.  Reycroft  will 
not  let  you  go.  There  is  no  need  of  worrying, 
for  Mr.  Hunt  says  particularly  that  there  hap- 
pens to  be  an  excellent  doctor  at  the  camp, 
and  I  shall  take  such  good  care  of  Edward 
that  he  can  come  back  to  you  in  a  few  days." 

Poor  Marie  felt  utterly  powerless  before  her 
sister-in-law's  strong  will.  Her  one  wish  was 
to  "escape  to  her  own  room,  where  she  could 
think  in  quiet :  she  must  feign  a  calmness  that 
she  did  not  feel,  and  then  I 

"  Theodora,"  she  observed  quietly,  "  as  you 
say,  there  is  no  use  in  worrying ;  it  will  be 


156          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

much  more  sensible  for  me  to  go  to  bed  and 
to  sleep." 

This  abrupt  change  of  manner  surprised 
Theodora,  but  did  not  arouse  her  suspicions. 
She  herself  felt  very  anxious  concerning  Ed- 
ward, but  she  was  thankful  to  have  partially 
allayed  Marie's  fears. 

"  Good-night,  dear,"  she  said  tenderly,  and 
she  kissed  her. 

"  Good-night,  dear,"  Marie  echoed,  passively 
letting  herself  be  kissed. 


XII. 

WHEN  Marie  was  in  her  own  room,  she 
threw  herself  down  on  the  bed  and  pressed 
her  hands  to  her  burning  head. 

"  I  hate  her  !  I  hate  her  !  "  she  repeated 
over  and  over  again.  "  And  I  let  her  kiss  me, 
hypocrite  that  I  am !  Oh,  how  I  wish  that 
she  would  go  away  and  never,  never  come 
back !  And  she  talks  about  my  nerves,  when 
it  is  she  who  has  broken  me  in  body,  mind, 
and  soul!  But  I  will  go  to  my  husband,  I 
will,  I  will !  " 

She  rose,  and  went  stealthily  about  the 
room,  taking  a  wrap  and  a  hat  out  of  her 
closet.  The  wind  was  still  blowing  a  gale,  but 
the  rain  had  almost  ceased.  She  stole  down- 
stairs, and  letting  herself  out  of  the  front  door, 
locked  it  and  slipped  the  key  into  her  pocket. 
She  could  hear  Theodora's  step,  and  glanced 
fearfully  up  at  her  window,  as  if  she  expected 
even  now  to  be  detected  and  called  back.  It 
was  half  past  ten  o'clock,  and  the  lights  had 


158  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

disappeared  from  the  neighboring  houses.  She 
had  never  been  out  alone  so  late  in  Edgeconib, 
and  the  darkness  terrified  her.  When  she  came 
to  the  centre  of  the  town,  she  grew  still  more 
frightened,  and  longed  for  the  friendly  quiet 
of  the  street  she  had  left,  for  some  of  the 
liquor-saloons  were  not  yet  closed,  and  a  group 
of  disorderly  loafers  was  sitting  on  the  church 
steps.  They  glanced  at  her  offensively  as  she 
went  by.  She  trembled  more  and  more  as  she 
sped  past  the  shops  and  into  the  dark,  silent 
thoroughfare  beyond  them.  A  great  dog  that 
sprang  out  from  behind  some  bushes  snapped 
at  her,  and  a  drunken  man  reeled  towards  her 
and  almost  touched  her.  She  walked  faster 
and  faster,  until  she  at  last  reached  the  parson- 
age gate.  She  could  see  that  Mr.  Compton 
was  still  up,  for  there  was  a  light  in  his  study 
window.  She  sank  half  exhausted  upon  the 
doorsteps  to  get  her  breath. 

The  minister  was  finishing  the  last  para- 
graph of  his  sermon  when  he  heard  a  faint, 
tremulous  ring.  He  went  to  the  door  himself. 
"  Mrs.  Davidson !  "  he  exclaimed  in  surprise  ; 
"  I  did  not  recognize  you  at  first,  for  it  is  so 
dark  outside." 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          159 

"I  don't  wonder  you  did  not  know  me," 
Marie  said  tremulously,  as  she  pinned  up  her 
disheveled  hair.  "  I  don't  seem  to  know  my- 
self." 

He  ushered  her  into  his  study,  and  pushed 
forward  a  leather  armchair  before  the  smoul- 
dering fire.  "  Miss  Davidson  has  told  you 
the  news  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  made  her  tell  me." 

"  And  you  have  come  to  see  if  I  have  been 
keeping  anything  back  ?  I  know  nothing  more 
than  you  do.  I  am  sure  there  is  no  cause  for 
undue  worry ;  and  yet  I  don't  wonder  that 
the  news  upset  you." 

His  gentleness  and  sympathy  were  too  much 
for  poor  Marie,  who  began  to  cry  furtively. 

He  went  out  of  the  room  to  give  her  time 
to  recover  her  self-possession,  and  came  back 
presently  with  some  milk  biscuits  and  a  glass 
of  wine. 

"  Oh,  you  are  so  good  to  me,"  she  said  with 
a  little  sob. 

"  I  ?  good  to  you  ?  I  can  never  forget  the 
many  times  that  you  and  Ned  have  been  kinder 
to  me  than  words  can  tell." 

"  You  must  think  me  a  fool,"  Marie  began, 


160          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

after  a  long  pause,  "  but  I  knew  I  could  n't 
sleep  until  I  found  out  whether  you  had  any 
more  news  ;  and  besides,  besides  "  — 

"  Besides  ?  "  he  echoed  kindly,  "  what  can  I 
do  for  you  besides  ?  " 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 
"  You  can  make  Theodora  let  me  go  to  my 
husband." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Davidson,  I  don't  understand. 
If  you  tell  your  sister  that  you  wish  to  go  too, 
it  can  easily  be  arranged." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  with  Theodora.  I 
mean  we  can't  both  leave  the  children.  She 
is  determined  to  go.  She  thinks  she  will  be 
more  useful,  and  that  I  am  not  strong 
enough." 

"Of  course  you  want  to  do  whatever  is 
best  for  him." 

"  That  is  just  the  point,"  she  said  eagerly. 
"  I  have  a  quieting  effect  over  Ned,  whereas 
Theodora  —  she  is  so  strong  that  she  might  not 
make  allowance  for  his  weakness.  Sometimes 
I  think  I  shall  be  insane  if  I  cannot  go  to 
him,"  she  added  piteously,  as  she  raised  her 
beautiful,  appealing  eyes  to  his. 

"  And  yet,  if  it  is  best  to  have  your 
sister  "  — 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA  161 

"  Mr.  Conipton,"  she  interrupted,  "  remem- 
ber how  you  felt  when  your  wife  was  living ; " 
and  she  glanced  up  at  the  picture  of  the  dark- 
haired  girl  with  the  passionate,  earnest  eyes. 

He  looked  at  it,  too,  and  there  was  a  sud- 
den change  in  his  expression.  Marie  did  not 
see  it,  for  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  portrait. 
"  Would  you  have  liked  best  to  have  your 
sister  come  to  you  when  you  were  ill  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  When  you  love  some  one  better 
than  all  the  world,  does  it  not  give  you  new 
strength  to  see  the  dear  face,  and  to  hear  the 
beloved  voice  ?  It  is  true  that  I  am  not 
physically  strong,  but  my  love  is  so  great 
that,  if  they  told  me  Edward  was  dying,  I 
am  sure  I  could  bring  him  back  to  life.  And 
he  loves  me  as  dearly  as  I  love  him,  weak  and 
faulty  as  I  am.  Don't  you  see  why  I  must 
go  to  him  ?  " 

"You  shall  go  to  him,"  he  said  impul- 
sively. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  my  dear,  kind  friend.  I 
can  never  thank  you  enough." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes  as  she  bade  him  good-night. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  walk  back,"  he  ob- 


162          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOBA. 

jectecl.  "  I  heard  Dr.  Rey  croft  drive  into  his 
yard  just  now,  and  I  will  get  him  to  take  you 
home.  Besides,  you  ought  not  to  go  to  Camp 
Bemis  without  consulting  him.  Remember,  if 
anything  were  to  happen  to  you,  it  would  be 
far  harder  for  Edward  than  to  have  you  stay 
here  now.  And  there  is  another  thing  to  be 
thought  of.  The  journey  is  by  no  means  a 
simple  one.  You  will  have  to  spend  the  night 
on  the  way,  and  take  a  steamboat  the  next 
morning.  You  would  find  it  much  more 
comfortable  to  have  Miss  Davidson  with  you. 
As  I  told  her,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to 
keep  the  children  and  their  nurse  with  me, 
if"  — 

"No,  I  should  not  feel  safe  to  leave  the 
children  with  any  one  but  Theodora,"  she 
interrupted  hastily.  "  Mr.  Compton,"  she 
added  with  a  sudden  impulse,  "you  have 
always  been  a  good  friend  to  Edward  and 
me,  and  you  asked  just  now  what  you  could 
do  for  me.  There  is  one  thing  that  you  can 
do.  You  can  come  with  me  to  Edward." 

The  idea  of  the  solitary  journey  into  the 
wilderness  had  all  along  been  terrifying  to 
poor  Marie.  "  Mr.  Compton,"  and  again  she 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          163 

looked  at  him  beseechingly  with  her  wonder- 
ful eyes,  "  if  you  were  with  me,  I  should  fear 
nothing.  It  is  a  great  deal  to  ask,  I  know, 
but  you  are  so  good ;  you  love  to  sacrifice 
yourself  for  your  friends." 

"  It  would  be  no  sacrifice.  There  is  nothing 
in  the  world  that  I  should  like  to  do  so  well, 
if  it  can  be  arranged ;  but  I  don't  see  how  I 
could  leave  Essie." 

"  Theodora  can  take  care  of  her.  She  can 
stay  with  my  children  while  you  are  gone." 

The  color  came  back  into  Marie's  cheeks, 
and  a  smile  played  about  her  mouth.  The 
idea  of  a  whole  week,  perhaps  a  fortnight, 
with  her  husband  without  Theodora  was  in- 
toxicating to  her.  Her  fears  concerning  his 
condition  were  subsiding,  and  the  future  looked 
brighter  to  her  than  it  had  for  months. 

"  I  know  that  I  shall  get  well  in  that  glo- 
rious air,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  see  how 
much  better  I  look  already  ?  Go  and  get  Dr. 
Reycroft,  please,  and  tell  him  how  much  better 
I  look  already." 

The  doctor  was  most  satisfactory  when  he 
came.  He  agreed  that  it  would  be  a  greater 
strain  on  Mrs.  Davidson's  nerves  to  stay  at 


164          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

home,  worrying  over  her  husband's  condition, 
than  to  go  to  him.  He  thought,  if  Mr.  Comp- 
ton  could  travel  with  her,  there  would  be  little 
danger  of  her  getting  over-tired,  and  suggested 
that  they  could  send  for  an  experienced  nurse 
if  they  found  one  was  needed.  He  was  so 
cheery  all  the  way  home,  and  made  so  light  of 
the  accident,  that  Marie  grew  less  and  less 
anxious. 

The  light  was  still  burning  in  Theodora's 
room  when  the  doctor  left  Mrs.  Davidson  at 
her  gate.  She  walked  on  tiptoe  along  the 
path  and  turned  the  key  softly  in  the  lock, 
feeling  like  a  burglar.  She  stole  softly  up 
the  stairs,  but  as  she  opened  the  door  of  her 
room,  Theodora's  quick  ears  caught  the  sound. 

"  Is  that  you,  Marie  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Can  I 
get  anything  for  you  ?  I  hoped  that  you  had 
gone  to  sleep  long  ago." 

"  I  have  everything  I  want,  thank  you  ;  and 
I  shall  go  to  sleep  very  soon." 

In  the  morning,  when  they  met  at  breakfast, 
it  was  Theodora  who  was  pale  and  troubled, 
and  who  showed  the  marks  of  having  passed 
a  sleepless  night,  while  Marie  looked  less 
fagged  than  she  had  for  many  days.  As  she 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          165 

had  now  made  up  her  mind  that  Edward's 
illness  was  to  be  a  brief  one,  Theodora's  grave 
face  was  as  irritating  to  her  as  her  calmness 
had  been  on  the  previous  evening.  Her  heart 
smote  her,  however,  when  she  saw  her  putting 
the  house  into  exquisite  order,  and  mending 
the  children's  clothes,  that  she  might  leave  no 
extra  work  to  be  done  after  her  departure. 

Marie  tried  once  or  twice  to  tell  Theodora 
of  her  determination,  but  her  natural  timid- 
ity, joined  to  the  certainty  that  she  would  do 
more  harm  than  good  to  her  cause  by  speak- 
ing, kept  her  silent.  She  felt  sure  that  it 
would  be  wiser  to  leave  Mr.  Compton  to  break 
the  news  to  her,  when  he  called  in  the  after- 
noon, as  he  had  promised  to  do.  Occasionally, 
the  frightful  possibility  crossed  her  mind  that 
she  and  Frank  Compton  together,  backed  by 
the  doctor's  authority,  would  not  have  suffi- 
cient determination  to  make  Theodora  change 
her  plans.  Whenever  Marie  thought  of  stay- 
ing in  Edgecomb,  her  husband's  condition  at 
once  seemed  critical ;  he  might  die  if  she  did 
not  go  to  him. 

Marie  was  driven  to  church,  while  Theodora 
stayed  at  home  to  continue  her  preparations. 


166          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

She  could  not  understand  her  sister-in-law's 
volatile  nature.  On  the  previous  evening  she 
had  been  on  the  verge  of  hysterics,  and  now 
she  seemed  to  have  dismissed  her  fears,  and 
to  be  cheerful  to  the  verge  of  light-heartedness. 
Could  she  feel  deeply?  Did  'she  know  the 
meaning  of  the  words  ? 

Mr.  Compton  lingered  after  church,  as 
usual,  to  exchange  greetings  with  his  parish- 
ioners, and  finally  walked  down  the  aisle  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Davidson.  She  stood  just  out- 
side her  pew,  listening,  in  her  usual  absorbed 
way,  to  the  woes  of  Mrs.  Fraley,  the  paralytic 
with  the  withered  hand.  The  forlorn,  shabby 
old  creature,  in  her  rusty,  patched  gown,  with 
her  wrinkled  face  and  shaking  head,  made  a 
sharp  contrast  to  the  beautiful  young  woman 
in  her  dainty  pale-green  gown  and  broad- 
brimmed  leghorn  hat,  trimmed  with  pink 
roses,  and  tilted  back  to  show  the  fluffy 
golden  curls  on  her  forehead.  Mr.  Compton 
made  a  few  kindly  inquiries  of  Mrs.  Fraley, 
and  then  turned  to  Mrs.  Davidson. 

"  Does  your  sister  agree  to  your  plans  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  have  n't  told  her  yet ;  I  am  waiting  for 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          167 

you.  I  feel  like  a  wicked  conspirator.  Do 
you,  too,  feel  like  a  wicked  conspirator?" 

"  I  am  sure  she  would  prefer  to  have  you 
tell  her." 

Marie  shook  her  head.  "  She  has  only  a 
poor  opinion  of  my  capacity  or  my  strength. 
She  would  insist  upon  my  staying  at  home. 
Now  don't  you  think  I  look  quite  strong  to- 
day ?  Don't  you  think  Edward  will  be  glad 
to  have  me  with  him?  Do  you  see  anything 
very  much  amiss  in  my  looks? " 

"  I  think  you  look  very  beautiful." 

She  colored  like  a  girl.  "  It  gives  me  great 
pleasure  to  have  pretty  speeches  made  to  me, 
although  I  am  really  quite  old,  almost  an  old 
woman,  twenty-eight  in  fact ;  and  yet,  when 
Edward  and  I  were  at  your  sister's  this  sum- 
mer, somebody  thought  we  were  on  our  wed- 
ding journey.  Fancy !  " 

"Mrs.  Davidson,  I  have  not  seen  you  in 
such  good  spirits  for  months." 

"  It  is  because  I  am  going  to  see  Ned  so 
soon.  Mr.  Comptou,  you  won't  desert  me? 
No  matter  what  sensible  things  Theodora  may 
say  about  her  being  an  excellent  nurse  and 
having  the  strength  of  five  Samsons,  you  will 


168          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOBA 

take  my  part  ?  She  is  so  determined,  and  I 
am  afraid  my  having  kept  it  from  her  so  long 
will  make  her  angry  "  — 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mrs.  Davidson  "  — 

"  Don't  tell  me  the  truth ;  the  truth  is  such 
a  very  ugly  thing !  it  is  often  as  ugly  as  that 
palsied  old  woman.  All  the  disagreeable  peo- 
ple I  know  tell  the  truth.  Edward  never  tells 
it,  and  I  never  tell  it,  and  we  are  agreeable  — 
I  mean  that  we  never  tell  the  whole  truth. 
Don't  look  so  shocked ;  I  don't  mean  that  we 
are  liars." 

He  laughed.  "  All  the  same,  I  advise  you 
strongly  to  go  straight  home  and  tell  Miss  Da- 
vidson your  plans,  for  she  will  have  the  right 
to  be  very  angry  with  both  of  us  if  you  do 
not ;  and  when  I  come  this  afternoon  we  will 
make  our  final  arrangements." 

Marie  was  in  the  parlor  when  Mr.  Compton 
arrived  after  dinner. 

"  I  will  let  Theodora  know  that  you  are 
here,"  she  said,  as  she  rose  to  greet  him.  "  I 
am  very  weak,  but  I  am  sure  you  will  forgive 
me,  for  you  are  so  good;  I  —  I  haven't  had 
the  courage  to  tell  her." 

"But,  Mrs.  Davidson,  what  will  she  think 
of  us?" 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          169 

"  I  will  call  her  now,  and  we  will  tell  her 
together ;  or  rather  I  will  tell  her,  and  you 
can  support  me." 

Theodora  was  packing.  She  had  taken  off 
her  gown  and  put  on  her  bedroom  wrapper, 
and,  to  Marie's  consternation,  she  refused  to 
see  their  visitor. 

"  It  would  take  me  too  long  to  dress,"  she 
stated.  "  Tell  Mr.  Compton  how  busy  I  am, 
and  I  am  sure  he  will  excuse  me." 

This  was  a  possibility  which  Marie  had  not 
contemplated.  It  filled  her  with  consterna- 
tion. "  My  dear,  that  would  be  so  impolite," 
she  said.  "  You  must  see  him,  for  he  has  come 
on  especial  business." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  really  can't  take 
the  time  for  it." 

"  Please  come  down,  Theodora ;  he  will  be 
so  disappointed." 

"  Disappointed  ?  Oh,  no ;  if  he  sees  you, 
that  will  be  all  he  wants." 

"  You  quite  refuse  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  sorry,  but,  as  I  said  before,  I 
can't  possibly  spare  the  time." 

The  color  came  and  went  in  Marie's  face, 
and  she  nervously  put  both  hands  for  support 


170          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

on  the  back  of  an  old-fashioned  armchair, 
looking  furtively  behind  her  at  the  open  door, 
like  a  prisoner  who  wishes  to  be  sure  that  the 
way  of  escape  is  plain. 

"  Theodora,"  she  began  tremulously,  "  I 
have  decided  to  go  to  Edward  to-morrow,  and 
Mr.  Compton  is  going  with  me." 

"  And  this  was  the  '  especial  business '  on 
which  he  came?"  flashed  out  Theodora.  The 
words  escaped  her  in  spite  of  herself.  Marie 
could  see  by  her  face  that  she  was  very  angry. 

"  Mr.  Compton  agreed  with  me  in  thinking 
that  it  would  be  much  better  for  me  to  go  to 
Edward,"  Marie  added,  gaining  courage. 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Compton  to  take 
such  an  interest  in  our  affairs.  Does  he  feel 
sure  that  you  will  have  the  strength  to  do  the 
necessary  nursing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  sure  of  it,  and  so  is  Dr.  Rey- 
croft." 

"  Oh,  you  have  seen  the  doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  after  what  you  said,  I  did  n't  think 
it  would  be  prudent  to  go  without  first  con- 
sulting him." 

"  Marie,  you  are  the  kind  of  woman  who 
can  make  men  agree  to  anything  you  propose, 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          171 

against  their  better  judgment ;  but,  charming 
as  you  are,  your  charm  does  not  influence  me. 
Do  you  suppose  that  I  would  urge  you  to  let 
me  go  to  Edward  if  you  were  as  strong  as  I 
am,  or  if  Edward  were  well  and  it  were  a  mere 
question  of  his  pleasure  ?  Don't  you  see  that 
if  he  has  good  nursing  at  once,  it  may  make 
the  difference  between  a  long  illness  and  a 
short  one  ?  I  should  feel  diffident  about  my 
capacity,  if  I  had  not  taken  a  course  in  nurs- 
ing, and  always  had  the  oversight  of  the  girls 
who  were  ill  at  school.  I  would  leave  it  to 
any  impartial  jury  of  women  to  decide  which 
of  us  two  is  the  better  fitted  to  take  care  of 
Edward.  A  jury  of  men,  I  am  aware,  would 
decide  in  your  favor." 

"  And  if  a  jury  of  men  would  decide  for  me, 
there  must  be  something  to  be  said  on  my  side. 
Come  down,  Theodora,  and  hear  what  Frank 
Comptou  has  to  say." 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say. 
He  has  n't  any  opinion  of  his  own.  He  agrees 
with  you,  when  you  are  with  him,  and  last  night 
he  agreed  with  me.  I  can  hear  just  what  he 
will  say :  '  Miss  Davidson '  (how  his  gentle, 
feminine  voice  tries  me  !),  '  it  would  undoubt- 


172  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

edly  be  a  good  tiling  if  Edward  could  have 
you  for  a  nurse,  and  yet  he  may  long  for  his 
sweet  wife.  Why  not  both  go,  and  let  me 
take  care  of  the  adorable  children  ? '  ' 

Nevertheless,  as  she  spoke,  she  began  to 
array  herself  for  the  interview. 

The  contrast  between  the  two  women  was 
even  more  striking  than  usual  as  they  entered 
the  room  where  Mr.  Compton  was  sitting. 
Marie  still  wore  her  graceful  green  gown,  and 
her  rosy  face  and  golden  hair  made  one  think 
of  a  flower  drooping  above  its  green  stalk. 
There  was  nothing  flower-like  about  Theodora. 
She  was  too  much  interested  in  her  purpose  to 
think  of  feminine  adornment,  and  had  put  on 
the  plain,  dark  dress  that  she  was  meaning  to 
wear  on  her  journey.  She  had  never  looked 
so  well,  notwithstanding,  for  her  face  was  full 
of  suppressed  feeling,  and  this  softened  look, 
together  with  the  bright  color  that  her  excite- 
ment had  given  her,  made  her  really  beautiful. 
To  complete  the  contrast,  Theodora  seemed 
unaware  of  her  attractions,  while  Marie  was 
fully  conscious  of  her  own  numerous  advan- 
tages. 

"  Mrs.  Davidson  tells  me  that  you  mean  to 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          173 

go  to  Camp  Bemis  with  her  to-morrow,"  The- 
odora began  coldly,  as  she  took  a  seat  at 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room  from  Francis 
Compton. 

She  felt  a  contempt  for  him  when  she 
thought  of  the  underhanded  work  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged,  and  his  slight  figure  and 
fair,  boyish  face  added  to  her  irritation.  This 
thing  was  called  a  man,  —  this  pretty,  feminine, 
amiable  thing,  that  she  could  easily  overthrow 
if  it  came  to  a  question  of  physical  strength, 
and  that  she  could  still  more  easily  disarm  on 
moral  grounds.  With  two  such  weak  antago- 
nists, she  must  surely  conquer.  She  was  so 
truly  anxious  to  do  the  best  for  all  concerned 
that  she  felt  no  hesitation  in  pressing  her 
point.  She  went  over  in  detail,  for  the  benefit 
of  Mr.  Compton,  the  many  advantages  to  be 
gained  if  she  went  to  Edward,  and  when  she 
had  finished  her  recapitulation,  she  turned  to 
him  and  asked,  "  Do  you  not  think  that  I  am 
right?" 

"No,  Miss  Davidson,"  he  said  in  his  gentle 
voice,  with  a  touch  of  apology  in  his  manner, 
"  I  think  you  are  wrong." 

"  Wrong !     You  think  me  wrong  ?     When 


174    THE  COMING  OF  THEODOEA. 

I  am  so  strong,  and  she  is  so  delicate  ?  You 
forget  that  she  has  her  children  to  think  of, 
as  well  as  her  husband,  and  that  she  is  unac- 
customed to  the  strain  of  nursing,  while  I  am 
used  to  it.  You  think  me  wrong,  when  the 
long  journey  is  a  terror  to  her  and  a  joy  to 
me  ?  —  when  everything  seems  easy  to  me, 
and  most  difficult  to  her  ?  When  you  think 
of  all  this,  do  you  still  say  that  I  am  wrong  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I  still  say  that  you 
are  wrong." 

"  And  why  do  you  think  me  wrong  ?  " 

"  Because  her  desire  to  be  with  her  hus- 
band will  give  her  strength,  whereas  the  anx- 
iety might  make  her  ill  if  she  stayed  be- 
hind ;  because  all  the  hardships  will  be  turned 
to  joys,  since  she  is  doing  it  for  him  ;  and  — 
forgive  me,  Miss  Davidson,  I  shall  have  to 
speak  plainly :  we  once  promised  to  tell  the 
whole  truth  to  each  other  —  because  I  think 
that  Edward  would  rather  have  her  with 
him." 

Her  face  changed.  "  That  is  true,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice ;  "  it  is  quite  true." 

Theodora's  eyes  followed  Marie,  who  si- 
lently left  the  room  at  this  point. 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          175 

"  Forgive  me  for  being  so  brutal,"  Mr. 
Compton  begged. 

"  You  only  said  what  I  have  known  for  a 
long  time  was  true,"  Theodora  returned.  She 
looked  absently  out  of  the  window  at  the 
fragrant  syringa  blossoms  and  the  yellow 
butterflies  darting  hither  and  yon  like  bits  of 
sunshine.  "It  is  a  strange  world,"  she  ob- 
served "  everything  is  so  uneven.  Yet  although 
butterflies  are  loved  the  best,"  she  added  pres- 
ently, "  it  does  not  prove  that  they  will  be  as 
useful  in  the  sick-room.  If  I  were  not  so  sure 
of  my  own  power,  I  should  let  Marie  have  her 
way ;  but  it  seems  as  if  my  training  as  nurse, 
my  strong  constitution,  and  my  intense  long- 
ing to  help  Edward  were  so  many  sign-posts 
pointing  to  the  fact  that  it  is  right  for  me  to 
go  to  him." 

"  Your  sister,  on  her  side,  would  say  that 
her  love  for  her  husband,  and  her  intense 
longing  to  be  with  him,  as  well  as  his  strong 
desire  to  see  her,  were  so  many  sign-posts 
pointing  to  the  fact  that  it  is  right  for  her 
to  go  to  him.  Miss  Davidson,  has  it  never 
occurred  to  you  that  perhaps  the  best  way 
of  helping  Edward  is  to  sacrifice  your  own 


176          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

wishes  ?  Have  you  never  thought  that  it  was 
wrong,  even  for  you,  with  the  best  intentions, 
and  the  greatest  love  for  both  of  them,  to  put 
yourself  between  husband  and  wife  ?  Have  you 
never  thought  that,  because  you  are  stronger 
than  Marie,  it  is  for  you  to  yield  ?  You  are 
magnanimous.  Are  you  not  magnanimous 
enough  to  stay  behind  to  do  the  hard  drudg- 
ery and  let  her  go  ?  " 

She  had  been  sitting  all  the  time  by  the 
open  window,  but  now  she  rose  and  crossed 
the  room  to  where  Francis  Compton  stood. 

"  You  do  not  understand  either  her  or  me," 
she  said,  "  but  you  are  right  in  advising  me 
to  stay  here.  She  shall  go." 


XIII. 

THEODORA  never  did  anything  by  halves, 
and,  having  once  made  up  her  mind  that  Marie 
was  to  join  her  husband,  she  put  all  her  en- 
ergy into  smoothing  the  path  for  her  depart- 
ure. Even  Marie  could  find  nothing  that  a 
reasonable  woman  could  object  to  in  her  sis- 
ter-in-law's conduct,  but  she  realized  that  she 
had  ceased  to  be  a  reasonable  woman,  so  far  as 
Theodora  was  concerned,  for  the  very  excess 
of  her  strength  and  efficiency  exasperated  her. 

The  next  morning,  Frank  Compton  came  at 
an  early  hour  to  leave  his  little  girl  under 
Miss  Davidson's  charge,  and  to  take  Mrs. 
Davidson  to  the  station.  She  looked  very 
happy  and  pretty  as  she  turned  to  bid  Theo- 
dora good-by. 

"  I  shall  write  every  day,  dear,  and  so  must 
you,"  she  said.  "  Don't  let  Gladys  go  out  in 
the  sun  without  her  hat ;  and  poor  Guy  needs 
some  new  shoes  sadly ;  and,  if  you  don't  mind 
sterilizing  the  milk  yourself  for  baby,  I  shall 


178  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

feel  safer  about  him  ;  and  there  is  something 
else  :  I  promised  to  send  some  flowers  to  old 
Mrs.  Fraley.  I  know  that  you  will  remember 
all  these  things,  and  a  hundred  more,  for  you 
are  so  good."  Her  heart  had  already  begun 
to  soften  toward  the  unhappy  being  who  was 
to  stay  at  home,  instead  of  having  the  bliss  of 
Edward's  society. 

"  Good-by,  Marie.  Give  my  love  to  Ed- 
ward. I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  the  chil- 
dren," said  Theodora. 

She  watched  the  carriage  drive  off,  and  then 
went  into  the  house  with  bitterness  in  her 
heart.  The  way  was  always  smoothed  for 
women  like  Marie  !  but  if  she  had  been  the 
one  to  go,  would  any  friendly  hand  have  been 
stretched  out  to  speed  her  on  her  journey? 
Life  had  never  seemed  so  unutterably  flat, 
stale,  and  unprofitable.  Instead  of  having 
the  happiness  of  nursing  her  brother,  joined  to 
the  excitement  of  being  in  new,  wild  places, 
she  had  to  stay  at  home  to  see  that  four  chil- 
dren did  not  go  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason 
in  their  mischief,  and  to  sterilize  the  milk  for  a 
fretful  baby,  who  did  not  even  have  the  name 
of  Nathaniel  Bradlee  to  recommend  him  ! 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          179 

The  temporary  legacy  which  Francis  Comp- 
ton  had  left  behind  him  did  not  serve  to  make 
her  life  any  easier.  She  felt  sure  that  another 
such  naughty,  willful  little  girl  as  Essie  Comp- 
ton  did  not  exist.  Essie,  in  fact,  having  an 
equally  unflattering  opinion  of  her  hostess, 
gave  vent  to  her  various  impulses,  and  led  the 
other  children  into  numerous  forms  of  mis- 
chief. She  was  a  bright  little  thing,  the  kind 
of  child  who  is  supposed  by  her  fond  relatives 
to  show  marks  of  genius,  but  is  regarded  by 
the  cold  world  beyond  the  domestic  circle 
with  scant  favor.  One  virtue  she  had,  how- 
ever :  she  always  told  the  truth  ;  and  as  Gladys 
had  lax  views  with  regard  to  veracity,  poor 
Essie  had  more  than  her  share  of  punish- 
ment, for  Dora,  although  an  honest  child, 
could  not  protect  her  friend  without  betraying 
her  sister.  One  of  their  escapades  was  to  re- 
gale themselves  freely  upon  green  currants. 
They  all  suffered  the  reward  of  the  evil-doer, 
but  the  consequences  to  Essie,  who  was  a  deli- 
cate child,  were  so  disastrous  that  Theodora 
doubted  whether  she  ought  to  let  her  go  to  a 
children's  party,  with  Dora  and  Gladys,  given 
by  Mrs.  Shimmin. 


180          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  ought  to  stay  at 
home,  Essie,"  she  said,  as  she  tied  Gladys's 
blue  sash.  "You  will  be  sure  to  eat  some- 
thing that  will  make  you  ill  again." 

Essie's  face  assumed  a  woebegone  expression 
that  changed  to  a  sullen  look  of  defiance.  "  I 
hate,  hate,  hate  her !  "  she  said  to  herself. 

"  You  see,  if  you  had  not  been  a  naughty 
girl,  Estelle,  then  you  would  not  have  been 
ill,"  Theodora  continued. 

"  But  Gladys  and  I  were  naughty  girls,  too, 
Aunt  Theodora,"  Dora  suggested,  "and  yet 
we  are  going  to  the  party.  Please  let  her  go  ; 
she  will  promise  to  be  a  good  girl,  and  not 
eat  anything  that  will  hurt  her.  We  will  all 
promise." 

"  Will  you  promise  not  to  eat  any  fruit 
or  cake?  I  want  Gladys  to  promise  that, 
too." 

"  Can  she  go  if  we  won't  eat  any  fruit  or 
cake  ?  "  asked  Gladys. 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  goody  !  goody  !  goody !  We  '11  prom- 
ise. And  you  can  wear  your  white  dress  and 
red  sash,  Essie.  Promise,  quick !  for  there 
is  n't  much  time." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          181 

Essie  promised,  half  defiantly,  and  the  three 
little  girls  set  off  in  due  season  for  Mrs.  Shim- 
min's  charming  house  with  the  entrancing 
garden. 

When  they  returned  at  night,  there  was 
a  suspicious  pallor  on  Essie's  cheeks,  and  a 
drawn  look  to  her  mouth. 

"  Estelle,"  Theodora  asked,  "  did  you  break 
your  promise  ?  Did  you  eat  any  fruit  or 
cake?" 

"  I  did  not  eat  any  fruit." 

"  Did  you  eat  any  cake  ?  " 

Gladys,  unobserved  by  her  aunt,  was  mak- 
ing negative  signs  from  the  corner  of  the 
room. 

"  Well,"  said  Essie  deliberately,  "  I  didn't 
eat  any  cake  exactly,  but  I  did  eat  some 
Washington  pie." 

"Estelle,  I  trusted  you  entirely.  Do  you 
think  it  was  being  a  good  girl  to  get  around 
your  promise  in  that  underhanded  way  ? 
Your  father  is  a  very  truthful  man,  and  I  am 
sure  that  it  would  grieve  him  to  know  that  his 
little  girl  had  been  so  naughty.  You  knew 
that  Washington  pie  was  the  same  as  cake  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm,"  she  said  doggedly. 


182  THE   COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

"  And  you  promised  me  that  you  would  n't 
eat  any  cake  ?  " 

"  Yes  W 

"  Then  why  did  you  eat  it  ?  " 

Poor  Essie  might  have  replied  in  the  lan- 
guage of  Scripture,  "  The  woman  tempted  me, 
and  I  did  eat,"  for  this  evasion  of  the  spirit 
of  her  promise  had  been  suggested  by  Gladys, 
but  she  was  too  loyal  to  her  friend. 

"  Why  do  you  do  things  that  you  ought  not 
to  ?  "  she  retorted. 

"  Estelle,  you  must  not  speak  to  me  in  that 
way.  It  is  very  impertinent.  I  am  sorry 
that  you  were  a  naughty  girl,  and  I  shall  send 
you  to  bed  half  an  hour  earlier  than  usual." 

As  the  child  was  too  tired  to  sit  up  any 
longer,  this  did  not  seem  an  overwhelming 
punishment,  to  Theodora,  but  suitability  in 
punishment  is  not  often  considered  by  chil- 
dren. 

"  Elizabeth  will  put  you  to  bed  now,"  Theo- 
dora proceeded. 

As  Essie  lay  in  the  deepening  twilight,  try- 
ing to  stay  awake  all  night,  "  just  to  spite  that 
hateful,  horrid  Miss  Davidson,"  the  world 
seemed  a  most  unjust  place.  Gladys  was  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          183 

worst  culprit,  for  she  had  eaten  twice  as  much 
"Washington  pie,  and  with  no  ill  effects.  She 
was  sitting  up  half  an  hour  longer,  listening 
to  "  Alice's  Adventures  in  Wonderland,"  and 
Miss  Davidson  would  never  find  out  that  she 
had  eaten  any  Washington  pie.  If  she  were 
asked  whether  she  had  eaten  any  cake,  she 
would  say  "  No,"  and  her  aunt  would  believe 
her.  And  yet,  strange  to  say,  her  childish 
indignation  was  not  centred  upon  Gladys,  fas- 
cinating, darling  Gladys,  whom  everybody 
loved,  but  upon  the  undiscerning,  unjust  Miss 
Davidson,  and  the  inequality  of  things  in  gen- 
eral. As  she  tossed  about  in  her  little  bed, 
she  was  struggling  with  the  same  problems 
that  had  suggested  themselves  to  the  older 
woman,  and  she,  too,  cried  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  heart,  "It  is  an  unfair  world." 

After  Gladys  had  been  put  to  bed,  she  stole 
into  the  next  room  to  comfort  her  friend. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now  ? "  she  asked, 
smoothing  her  pillow  as  tenderly  as  her 
mother  might  have  done. 

"My  body  feels  well  enough,"  said  Essie 
sententiously,  "  but  my  mind  feels  strange." 

"  You   don't   think  you  are  going  to  have 


184          THE  COMING  OF  THEODOBA. 

a  fever,  do  you  ? "  asked  the  anxious  little 
nurse. 

"  I  guess  not ;  I  never  heard  of  Washing- 
ton pie  giving  anybody  a  fever." 

"  Why  did  you  tell  her  that  you  had  eaten 
any  Washington  pie?  She  asked  you  if  you 
had  eaten  any  cake,  and  I  kept  making  a  sign 
to  you  to  say  '  No.'  " 

"  It  was  cake." 

"  It  was  n't  cake ;  it  was  pie.  She  did  n't 
say  not  to  eat  any  pie.  Dora  wanted  me 
to  tell  her  that  I  had  had  pie,  too.  But  it 
would  n't  have  made  you  feel  any  better  to 
have  had  me  go  to  bed  early  and  lose  '  Alice 
in  Wonderland,'  would  it  ?  "  she  asked  caress- 
ingly. 

"  I  think  it  would  have  made  me  feel  better 
in  my  mind." 

"  Essie,  darling,  I  will  let  you  play  with 
Muriel  all  to-morrow,  and  she  is  my  very 
sweetest  doll.  Will  that  make  you  feel  better 
in  your  mind  ?  " 

"  It  does  n't  seem  the  same  thing,  somehow, 
as  telling  the  truth,"  objected  Essie,  "  but  I 
should  like  to  play  with  Muriel." 

"  Essie,  you  love  me  just  as  well  as  you  do 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          185 
Dora,  even  if  I  did  n't  tell  about  the  pie,  don't 

you?" 

"  I  can't  help  loving  you  better  than  Dora, 
no  matter  what  you  do,"  confessed  poor  Essie. 

"Good-night,  then,  and  we  won't  say  any- 
thing more  about  the  pie." 

"No,  we  will  never  speak  about  it  again," 
said  Essie ;  and  yet  her  sense  of  justice  was 
not  satisfied. 

The  next  morning,  a  letter  came  to  Essie 
from  her  father,  saying  that  he  should  have  to 
be  gone  another  week,  and  this  news  nearly 
broke  her  heart.  Even  Muriel  afforded  but 
slight  comfort.  Essie  was  not  well  enough  to 
play  out-of-doors  with  the  other  children,  and 
Theodora  was  too  full  of  her  own  anxieties  to 
do  more  than  provide  her  with  a  paint-box 
and  some  pictures.  The  poor  little  thing  was 
terribly  homesick,  and  read  her  letter  over 
and  over  until  she  knew  it  by  heart. 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  with  niy  little  girl," 
her  father  wrote,  "  but  her  poor  Uncle  Ned, 
whom  she  loves  so  much,  is  very  ill,  and  so  I 
must  stay  here  a  week  longer,  and  all  the 
people  at  church  must  have  somebody  else 
preach  to  them,  and  my  little  girl  must  have 


186  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

somebody  else  preach  to  her.  She  must  be 
brave,  and  not  cry  at  all,  and  she  must  be  a 
good  girl,  and  not  trouble  kind  Miss  David- 
son, who  is  taking  such  excellent  care  of  her." 
"  Excellent  care  !  "  At  this  point  her  tears 
began  to  flow.  She  struggled  to  keep  them 
back,  because  her  father  had  told  her  not  to 
cry,  but  she  thought  how  little  he  knew  the 
real  state  of  the  case.  How  she  longed  for 
him !  He  had  never  been  away  from  her  for 
so  many  days  before,  and  she  loved  him  more 
than  she  loved  any  one  in  the  whole  world, 
even  better  than  she  loved  Gladys;  and  she 
hated  Miss  Davidson  more  than  she  hated 
any  one  in  the  whole  world,  even  more  than 
she  hated  the  cook  who  drank,  or  the  maid 
who  stole.  Indeed,  Marianne  had  always  been 
very  nice,  and  she  had  loved  her  dearly  until 
she  found  what  a  bad,  bad  girl  she  was.  She 
hated  Miss  Davidson  more  than  she  hated  the 
others,  for  the  reason  that  she  was  so  strict 
and  decided,  and  because  she  sometimes  called 
her  Estelle,  which  was  not  right,  as  it  was  her 
mother's  name ;  and  because  she  had  sent  her 
to  bed  half  an  hour  too  early,  just  because  she 
had  not  told  a  lie ;  and  she  should  think  that 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          187 

George  Washington  would  feel  very  sorry  up 
in  heaven  when  he  heard  that  a  little  girl  was 
punished  on  account  of  having  told  the  truth 
about  one  of  his  pies.  Miss  Davidson  was  an 
unkind,  hateful  woman,  and  she  would  not  do 
a  thing  to  please  her,  not  even  for  her  papa's 
sake. 

Poor  Theodora,  who  was  nearly  beside  her- 
self with  anxiety  concerning  Edward,  was  too 
preoccupied  to  give  much  thought  to  the  pale- 
faced  little  girl,  who  bent  over  her  painting  in 
a  silence  that  the  older  woman  did  not  recog- 
nize as  hostile.  A  letter  had  come  for  her, 
also,  by  the  morning  mail,  in  which  Mr. 
Compton  stated  that  the  inflammation  was 
spreading  on  Edward's  hand,  and  that  they 
feared  an  operation  would  be  necessary.  Con- 
sequently the  whole  ghastly  range  of  possibil- 
ities, with  which  her  medical  knowledge  made 
her  only  too  familiar,  was  in  her  mind  all  day. 

The  week  that  followed  was  inexpressibly 
dreary.  For  four  days  Theodora  heard  no 
news  ;  then  she  received  a  few  penciled  lines 
from  Marie,  saying  Edward  was  doing  well, 
and  that  Mr.  Compton  would  tell  her  every- 
thing when  he  returned  on  Saturday.  "  Dear 


188          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

Theodora,"  the  letter  ended,  "  I  can  never  be 
sufficiently  grateful  to  you  for  letting  me 
be  with  my  husband  during  all  this  time  of 
anxiety." 

What  did  these  words  mean  ?  Marie  should 
have  said  less  or  more.  What  were  they 
keeping  from  her  ?  Did  no  one  remember  that 
she,  too,  would  have  given  her  heart's  blood 
to  be  with  Edward,  and  that  she,  too,  was 
consumed  with  anxiety?  Could  Marie  never 
learn  that  a  sister  may  love  with  the  same  in- 
tense devotion  as  a  wife  ?  Theodora  longed 
and  yet  dreaded  to  have  Saturday  come.  One 
moment  she  felt  that  she  would  give  anything 
to  have  her  suspense  ended,  and  the  next  she 
wished  that  she  could  postpone  indefinitely  the 
certainty  that  might  be  so  much  worse  than 
suspense. 


XIV. 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  Saturday 
when  Mr.  Compton  finally  appeared.  Theo- 
dora ran  eagerly  to  the  door  to  let  him  in. 

"  What  is  the  news  ?  "  she  demanded  breath- 
lessly. Then  a  glance  at  his  face  told  her  that 
there  was  no  good  news. 

"  Is  he  worse  ?  Is  he  "  —  She  could  not 
finish  the  sentence. 

"  He  is  doing  as  well  as  he  can  under  the 
circumstances,  Miss  Davidson." 

"  Something  has  happened.  Do  not  keep 
me  in  suspense !  "  she  entreated. 

He  followed  her  into  the  parlor,  where  she 
took  her  accustomed  seat  by  the  window,  and 
motioned  to  him  to  take  a  chair  a  little  distance 
away  from  her.  There  was  a  pause. 

"  I  know  what  it  is,"  she  said  unsteadily. 
"  There  has  had  to  be  an  operation,  and  "  — 

"Yes." 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  with  a  little  shudder, 
"  poor  boy  !  " 


190          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  He  was  very  brave." 

"Yes,"  and  she  raised  her  head  proudly, 
"  the  Davidsons  are  not  cowards." 

"  Miss  Davidson,  I  wish  that  I  did  not  have 
to  tell  you  this  thing ;  I  thought  Marie  was 
going  to  write  it  to  you,  but  she  said  she 
could  not.  It  was  worse  than  we  feared." 

"  You  don't  mean  "  — 

"  I  mean  that  in  order  to  save  his  life  "  — 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  she  said,  putting  up  her 
hand  imperiously.  Then,  as  she  let  it  drop 
again,  she  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  absently 
and  added,  "  And  it  was  his  right  hand  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  has  had 
to  lose  his  right  hand  ?  "  she  asked  hoarsely. 

He  was  silent.  "  Miss  Davidson,"  he  added 
presently,  "  he  was  very  brave." 

"You  have  told  me  that  before.  I  —  oh, 
I  beg  your  pardon  for  speaking  like  that,  it 
was  so  good  of  you  to  be  with  him  !  —  but  — 
I  think  it  will  break  my  heart." 

As  she  spoke,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 
Frank  Compton  felt  as  helpless  as  if  a  strong 
man  had  given  way  to  grief.-  She  was  too  un- 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          191 

conscious  to  think  of  putting  a  restraint  upon 
herself  on  account  of  his  presence.  It  would 
have  been  the  same  if  the  room  had  been  full 
of  people.  Her  tears  seemed  like  a  sudden 
storm,  unexpected,  terrible,  inevitable. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  begged,  as  he  rose  to  leave 
the  room.  There  was  something  in  his  pres- 
ence that  comforted  her.  He,  too,  loved  Ed- 
ward. When  she  grew  a  little  calmer,  she 
asked  him  many  questions  concerning  the  last 
fortnight,  and  by  the  time  his  narration  was 
over  she  had  wholly  regained  her  self-control. 

"  I  can  hardly,  even  yet,  believe  that  it  is 
true,"  she  said  at  last.  "  He  has  always  been 
so  strong  and  so  handsome,  and  he  has  had 
almost  a  contempt  for  the  unfortunate  people 
in  the  world.  I  mean  the  unconscious  half 
pity,  half  aversion  of  a  nature  that,  physically 
speaking,  is  beyond  reproach.  He  would  do 
anything  for  them,  he  is  always  kind ;  but  they 
have  annoyed  him,  the  army  of  the  halt  and 
the  maimed,  and  he  has  had  a  shrinking  from 
them,  and  now  "  —  her  voice  sank  —  "  he  will 
be  one  of  them  !  How  will  he  bear  it  ?  " 

"  He  will  bear  it  like  a  brave  man.  He 
will  not  be  made  morbid  by  it,  and  so  —  and 


192          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

because  he  is  so  charming — no  one  will  give 
it  a  second  thought ;  but  it  is  a  terrible  loss." 

"  If  I  had  only  gone  to  him,  perhaps  I  could 
have  prevented  it,"  she  moaned. 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  have  made  any  dif- 
ference, and  you  certainly  have  nothing  with 
which  to  reproach  yourself.  The  whole  affair 
was  taken  out  of  your  hands." 

"  To  lose  one's  right  hand,"  she  continued ; 
"  never  to  paint  again  ;  always  to  be  helpless, 
even  in  the  smaller  concerns  of  life  ;  to  be 
maimed,  crippled;  and  for  it  to  have  come  to 
him  of  all  people,  to  my  superbly  strong,  tal- 
ented brother !  When  I  think  of  the  bright 
and  hopeful  boy  that  he  was,  —  of  all  his  plans 
for  the  future,  of  the  great  pictures  that  he 
was  going  to  paint" —  She  left  her  sen- 
tence unfinished,  and  struggled  with  her  tears. 

"Miss  Davidson,  I  would  have  given  my 
own  right  hand  if  it  could  have  saved  his." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  she  asked,  glancing  up  ea- 
gerly, as  if  in  some  way  the  exchange  might 
be  effected.  "  I  like  you  for  saying  it.  How 
willingly  would  I  give  mine  for  his  !  "  and  she 
looked  down  at  her  own  well- shaped  right 
hand.  "  A  woman's  hand  !  Of  what  account 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  193 

is  a  woman's  hand  in  the  world,  when  com- 
pared with  the  hand  of  a  strong  man,  —  of  a 
man  with  a  touch  of  genius  who  might  have 
done  some  glorious  thing!  " 

"  I  sometimes  think  "  —  he  began  hesitat- 
ingly- 

She  cut  him  short.  "  Don't  say  it,  please. 
I  have  sometimes  thought  so  too ;  but  to  put 
a  thing  into  actual  words  seems  to  make  it 
more  true,  and  I  like  to  think  now  that  he 
might  have  done,  might  have  been  — anything." 

"  And  so  he  might." 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  not  told  me,  as  Mr. 
Thorndyke  would  have  done,  that  I  ought  to 
be  thankful  things  are  not  any  worse.  He 
would  say  that  I  should  be  humbly  grateful 
that  Edward's  life  is  spared.  I  hate  all  the 
trite,  consolatory,  ministerial  remarks.  Do 
you  believe  that  everything  works  together 
for  good  ?  " 

"  There  is  another  clause  to  the  text :  *  All 
things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that 
love  God.'  I  think  we  often  fail  to  get  all 
the  good  we  might  out  of  our  trials." 

"  You  are  begging  the  question.  I,  for  my 
part,  do  not  believe  that  a  thing  like  this  is 


194  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

sent  by  God  as  a  means  of  discipline.  I  think 
it  happens  by  accident,  and  that  He  is  no 
more  responsible  for  it  than  I  am." 

"  Call  it  accident,  or  call  it  God's  plan,  and 
the  fact  remains  that  the  thing  has  happened, 
and  that  the  misfortune  can  be  borne  in  such 
a  way  that  it  will  do  positive  harm  to  the  per- 
son himself  and  to  all  about  him,  or  it  can  be 
borne  well.  Have  you  never  found  that  you 
have  got  unexpected  good  from  your  own 
trials?" 

"  Never !  I  have  got  nothing  but  harm 
from  them.  I  should  be  a  much  sweeter 
person  if  my  girlhood  had  not  been  embit- 
tered by  my  father's  marriage." 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  he  said  absently. 

Theodora  resented  these  words.  It  is  pleas- 
anter  to  be  told  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth,  in  theory  than  in 
practice,  and,  truth-loving  as  she  was,  she  was 
but  human. 

"  You  would  not  be  as  strong  a  woman  as 
you  are  now  if  you  had  not  suffered,"  he 
added  gently. 

"  I  hate  strong  women ! "  she  exclaimed 
vehemently.  "  How  could  I  have  got  any 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          195 

good  from  my  own  trials?"  she  added  irrele- 
vantly. 

"  Miss  Davidson,  I  am  sure  you  don't  want 
me  to  make  any  '  trite  ministerial  remarks '  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  that  our  trials  ought 
to  make  us  more  sympathetic  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  to  preach  any  better  than 
you  like  to  be  preached  to.  I  was  only  think- 
ing that  in  my  own  case  I  have  found  a  cer- 
tain unexpected  comfort  in  having  sounded 
the  depths  of  sorrow.  It  has  made  it  easier 
to  understand  the  point  of  view  of  those  who 
have  suffered." 

"  Yet  you  would  be  happy  again,  if  you 
could  ?  You  would  undo  the  past,  if  you 
could,  and  make  it  different  ?  " 

She  was  surprised  at  the  effect  of  her  words. 
"Don't  ask  me  that  question,"  he  said  with 
agitation ;  "  we  can't  choose  :  that  ought  to  be 
enough  for  us." 

They  were  interrupted  by  Essie  at  this 
point,  who  rushed  into  the  room  and  flung 
her  arms  around  her  father's  neck.  "  You 
dear  papa !  "  she  cried,  as  she  kissed  him  over 
and  over  again,  "you  dear,  dear,  darling  papa! 
How  I  have  missed  you !  And  you  must 


196          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

never,  never  go  away  without  me  again ;  and 
I  have  had  a  perfectly  horrid  time,  and  I 
never  want  to  come  here  "  — 

"  Hush  !  my  dear  child,  you  must  n't  say 
that !  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  so  naughty 
that  Miss  Davidson  will  never  want  you  here 
again.  We  must  go  home  now.  Shake  hands 
with  her  Essie,  and  thank  her  for  having  been 
so  kind  to  you." 

"  Don't  make  her  say  that ;  that  is  a  matter 
of  opinion,"  said  Theodora,  as  she  touched  the 
tips  of  Essie's  fingers. 

She  watched  the  two  go  down  the  walk  to- 
gether, and  wondered  how  it  would  seem  to 
be  loved  by  any  human  being  as  Estelle  loved 
her  father. 

The  night  which  followed  was  terrible  to 
Theodora.  She  could  not  get  away  from  the 
vision  of  the  bright  boy,  as  he  had  been  in 
past  years,  who  now  in  the  prime  of  life  was 
crippled  and  helpless.  She  had  a  blind  feel- 
ing of  rebellion  against  a  resistless,  remorse- 
less fate,  by  the  side  of  which  she,  strong  of 
will  and  strong  of  purpose,  was  as  thistledown 
in  the  wind.  She,  Theodora  Davidson,  who 
would  have  given  her  life  for  her  brother,  was 
utterly  powerless  to  help  him. 


.  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          197 

Day  came  at  last,  another  day,  heralded  by 
a  golden  sunrise,  and  the  twittering  of  birds, 
and  all  the  delicious  minor  sounds  that  go  to 
the  making  of  a  July  morning ;  but  Theodora 
was  blind  and  deaf  to  the  outside  world,  and 
could  only  repeat  to  herself,  "  All  thy  waves 
and  thy  billows  have  gone  over  me,"  and  she 
knew,  as  she  had  never  known  before,  the 
meaning  of  the  words,  "  The  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death." 

Later  in  the  day,  the  Sunday  bells  rang  out 
clear  and  sweet,  and  the  usual  sedate  stream 
of  church-goers  passed  the  house  in  their 
sober  Sunday  array.  Theodora  followed  them 
at  a  distance,  for  she  had  a  sudden  impulse  to 
hear  Francis  Compton  preach.  She  did  not 
sit  in  the  Davidson  pew,  which  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  church,  where  she  would  be  seen 
and  questioned,  but  she  took  her  seat  close  by 
the  door,  in  the  free  pew  that  was  reserved  for 
the  poor  in  the  parish.  An  old  woman  who 
was  nearly  blind,  and  Mrs.  Fraley  with  her 
withered  hand,  were  the  other  occupants.  She 
shuddered  when  she  remembered  that  into  this 
world  of  suffering  her  brother  had  entered 
now,  and  she  felt  herself  a  part  of  it  through 


198  THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

the  intensity  of  her  sympathy  for  him.  There 
was  little  of  the  spiritual  in  her  nature,  but 
to-day  her  heart  cried  out  for  strength  and 
comfort,  and  as  she  heard  the  opening  reading 
she  had  a  strange,  new  feeling  of  fellowship 
with  all  the  stricken  souls  who  had  heard  the 
same  words  from  generation  to  generation, 
and  sought  like  herself  to  find  comfort  and 
strength  somewhere.  "  Why  art  thou  cast 
down,  O  my  soul,"  Mr.  Compton  read, 
"  and  why  art  thou  disquieted  in  me  ?  hope 
thou  in  God  :  for  I  shall  yet  praise  him  for  the 
help  of  his  countenance." 

She  was  not  in  the  habit  of  listening  atten- 
tively to  a  church  service,  but  she  caught 
stray  sentences,  and  she  liked  to  be  there. 
When  it  came  to  the  sermon,  there  was  some- 
thing in  its  directness  and  simplicity  that  went 
straight  to  her  heart,  and  made  her  forget  to 
criticise  it,  as  usual,  from  an  intellectual  stand- 
point. The  young  minister  was,  for  the  time 
being,  an  apostle  with  a  message  for  all  the 
sorrowing,  and  a  half-forgotten  text  came  into 
her  mind,  fraught  with  a  new  meaning,  —  "A 
man  of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief." 

She  hurried  home  as  soon  as  church  was 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          199 

over,  that  she  might  not  have  to  speak  to  any 
one  ;  and,  as  she  pursued  her  solitary  way,  she 
noticed  that  the  birds  were  singing,  and  that 
the  sun  was  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky.  The 
worst  was  over.  Hers  was  a  nature  that  would 
always  have  a  sharp,  passionate  struggle  and 
then  submit  to  the  inevitable,  and  she  was  al- 
ready gathering  courage  to  face  her  life  as  it 
must  be  in  the  future.  She  would  devote  her- 
self to  her  brother  more  intelligently  than  she 
had  ever  done  before,  and  help  him,  as  no  one 
else  could,  to  bear  this  great  trial. 


XV. 

IN  the  weeks  that  followed,  Theodora  looked 
forward  eagerly  to  Frank  Compton's  daily 
visit,  for  he  always  brought  the  latest  news 
from  Edward,  and  Edward  was  a  strong  bond 
between  them.  Their  intercourse  was  now  on 
a  thoroughly  satisfactory  footing.  When  a 
man  has  told  a  woman  that  he  does  not  love 
her,  and  has  been  refused  by  her  because  she 
does  not  love  him,  there  is  a  straightforward 
simplicity  in  their  relations  that  is  not  without 
charm.  There  need  be  no  self-consciousness 
on  either  side.  If  to  love  him  would  be  im- 
possible, it  was  quite  possible  to  like  him,  and 
to  feel  that  she  had  not  done  justice  formerly 
to  the  quiet  strength  that  lay  concealed  be- 
neath a  misleading  manner. 

Theodora's  anxieties  were  increased  by  the 
baby,  who  took  this  inconsiderate  time  to  have 
an  ill  turn.  It  proved  to  be  nothing  serious, 
but  the  hours  that  she  spent  with  the  little 
Cyril  were  the  means  of  giving  him  a  place  in 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          201 

her  heart  second  only  to  that  occupied  by  his 
father,  and  she  even  grew  to  love  the  sound  of 
his  objectionable  name.  One  afternoon,  when 
the  baby  was  better,  but  very  restless  and 
fretful,  Mr.  Compton  came  in  just  as  she  was 
trying  to  hush  him  to  sleep.  He  entered  un- 
announced, as  the  front  door  was  open,  and 
saw  her  bending  over  the  unhappy  baby,  who 
was  doubling  up  his  little  fist  and  dealing 
reckless  blows  in  blind  rage  at  his  aunt. 

"  Come,  now,  little  man,  you  must  behave 
yourself,"  she  said.  "  You  must  go  to  sleep." 

It  might  be  easy  for  Theodora  to  force  older 
people  to  obey  her,  but  she  was  wholly  routed 
by  a  five-months-old  baby.  He  evidently  had 
no  idea  of  behaving  himself.  She  looked  so 
unusually  attractive  as  she  glanced  down  at 
her  obstreperous  nephew  that  Frank  lingered 
a  moment  before  making  his  presence  known. 
Her  smooth  hair  had  been  roughened  by  small 
hands,  and  her  becoming  blue  gingham  gown 
had  lost  its  usual  spotless  daintiness,  and  was 
somewhat  crumpled.  These  imperfections 
served  to  make  her  seem  more  dear  and 
human. 

"  *  This  little  pig  went  to  market,'  "  she  was 


202          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

saying,  —  "look  out,  baby,  you  will  pull  my 
hair  down,  — '  this  little  pig  had  roast  meat ' "  — 

"  No,  he  did  n't,"  said  Frank,  "  *  this  little 
pig  stayed  at  home ; '  it  was  the  other  little 
pig  who  had  roast  beef;  history  has  been  kind 
enough  to  give  us  realistic  details.  I  am  sur- 
prised that  such  a  well-informed  young  woman 
should  have  so  sadly  forgotten  her  Mother 
Goose." 

She  looked  up  with  a  smile.  "  Mr.  Comp- 
ton,  I  did  n't  know  that  you  were  there.  Do 
take  that  armchair,  and  please  forgive  this 
very  naughty  young  person,  who  has  done 
nothing  but  howl  for  the  last  hour." 

"  Give  him  to  me ;  I  can  make  him  go  to 
sleep." 

"You?" 

"  Yes.  I  had  a  lot  of  practice  with  Essie, 
who  was  a  very  fractious  baby." 

"  But  that  was  years  ago.  You  need  not 
tell  me  that  you  can  put  this  baby  to  sleep 
more  successfully  than  his  aunt  can,  need  he, 
baby?  For  we  won't  believe  him,  will  we? 
Is  n't  he  a  fascinating  little  thing?" 

"  Very,  especially  when  he  tries  to  demolish 
you." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          203 

"  No,  but  really  —  don't  you  think  he  is  re- 
markably handsome  for  a  small  baby  ?  " 

"  Just  now,  with  his  face  drawn  up  into  a 
knot?" 

"  You  are  most  unappreciative.  Cyril,  you 
need  not  look  at  him  ;  he  is  a  heartless  man." 

"  Give  him  to  me,  and  I  will  make  him  a 
very  good  little  boy." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing." 

"  He  is  putting  out  his  hands  to  me,  Miss 
Davidson.  He  wants  to  come  to  me." 

"  The  unnatural  little  wretch  ! " 

It  was  too  true.  He  put  out  his  hands  in 
a  most  enticing  and  irresistible  manner;  and 
when  Theodora  turned  his  face  the  other  way, 
he  gave  such  a  heart-rending  wail  that  she  was 
obliged  to  relinquish  him.  Mr.  Compton  took 
him,  and  began  to  walk  the  room  with  him. 

"  You  are  getting  him  into  dreadful  habits ; 
he  is  not  supposed  to  be  walked  with,  ever." 

The  baby  had  already  stopped  crying,  and 
Frank  threw  a  mischievous  glance  at  Theo- 
dora. "  Perhaps  he  takes  after  his  aunt ;  per- 
haps he  can't  get  any  good  out  of  discipline," 
he  ventured.  "  Anyway,  he  seems  to  be  going 
to  sleep !  " 


204  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  What  have  you  done  to  him  ?  You  have 
bewitched  him  ;  I  ani  desperately  jealous." 

"  He  likes  me  ;  he  thinks  me  very  nice,"  he 
observed  with  a  tantalizing  smile.  "  Young 
man,  you  are  most  undiscerning.  I  declare, 
he  is  almost  off  already !  " 

He  was  wholly  "  off "  a  little  later,  and 
Frank  stopped  before  Theodora  in  his  walk 
and  announced  the  fact. 

"  The  little  rascal  is  actually  asleep.  What 
shall  I  do  with  him?" 

"  Give  him  to  me." 

"  I  will  do  nothing  so  rash.  He  will  wake 
up  again  and  demand  all  your  attention,  and  I 
want  it  myself.  You  shall  not  have  him.  I 
will  dump  him  into  his  carriage,  or  his  crib, 
or  wherever  the  orthodox  place  is." 

"  Very  well,  you  may  take  him  upstairs  to 
Elizabeth  in  the  nursery." 

When  he  had  satisfactorily  disposed  of  Cyril 
and  returned  to  the  parlor,  Theodora's  hair  was 
in  its  usual  state  of  trim  perfection. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did  n't  let  the  baby's  rav- 
ages stay,"  he  said.  "  It  seems  to  put  you 
more  on  a  level  with  other  people  to  have  a '  rav- 
age '  or  two,  and  I  feel  less  afraid  of  you." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          205 

"  I  have  not  observed  that  I  have  succeeded 
in  inspiring  you  with  awe  precisely  at  any 
tfme." 

They  talked  about  Edward  at  first,  and  then 
of  nothing  in  particular.  Theodora  could  not 
help  knowing  that  she  pleased  him,  and  the 
knowledge  was  very  delightful.  Her  girl- 
hood had  been  so  sombre  and  hard-working 
that  there  was  the  charm  of  novelty  even  in 
the  admiration  of  a  man  like  Francis  Comp- 
ton,  whom  she  considered  more  than  half  a 
woman.  She  knew,  or  she  thought  she  knew, 
that  there  was  no  danger  of  his  falling  in  love 
with  her. 

Essie  had  gone  away  on  a  three  days'  visit 
to  her  aunt,  and  therefore  her  father  insisted 
upon  spending  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  with 
Miss  Davidson.  In  vain  she  suggested  to  him 
that  he  ought  to  make  parish  calls. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  I  am  making 
now,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  sure  you  are  half  a 
parishioner  of  mine,  even  if  Thorndyke  does 
claim  the  other  half." 

"  I  am  at  least  no  parishioner  of  his." 

"  I  intend  to  stay  here  all  the  afternoon," 
he  went  on,  "  unless  you  turn  me  out.  I  used 


206  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

to  go  in  for  duty  and  that  sort  of  thing,  but 
you  once  told  me  that  I  felt  it  of  too  great 
consequence  whether  I  made  all  the  parish 
calls  that  I  ought  to  make,  and  ever  since  I 
have  decided  to  relax." 

"  If  this  is  a  parish  call,  your  position  is 
illogical,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"No,  for  you  told  me  that,  if  I  put  my 
heart  into  the  parish  calls,  it  would  be  no 
effort  to  make  them.  I  am  doing  that  now ; 
my  heart  is  very  much  'in  it.' ' 

"  If  you  stay,  I  shall  set  you  to  work,"  she 
observed  with  mock  severity ;  "  the  tennis- 
court  ought  to  be  marked  out  again :  and  I 
shall  have  to  pick  some  currants  for  tea,  for  it 
is  the  cook's  '  afternoon  out.'  " 

"  If  I  help  you  pick  the  currants,  may  I 
help  you  eat  them?  The  children  would  love 
to  have  me  stay,"  he  proceeded  plaintively ; 
"  they  like  me,  and  the  baby  might  wake  up, 
you  know." 

He  stayed,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  the 
children,  who  surrounded  him  in  a  body,  as 
soon  as  they  discovered  his  presence,  and 
demanded  stories. 

"You   tell   lots   nicer    stories    than    Aunt 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          207 

Theodora  does,"  Dora  observed,  with  the  Da- 
vidson frankness. 

"  I  am  sure  Aunt  Theodora  tells  very  nice 
ones,"  said  Gladys  politely. 

"  Why,  you  know  you  said  yourself,"  ex- 
postulated Dora,  "  that  they  were  always  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  ;  she  only  knows 
three  or  four." 

"  But  they  are  very  nice,"  reiterated  Gla- 
dys. "  Everybody  is  n't  a  minister,  and  used 
to  making  up  stories." 

"  We  are  even  now,  Miss  Davidson,"  Frank 
laughed. 

Presently  they  all  went  out  into  the  delight- 
ful, old-fashioned  garden  behind  the  house, 
where  the  currants  hung  in  tempting  red 
clusters,  no  longer  fraught  with  disaster,  and 
the  apple-trees,  full  of  young,  half-grown 
apples,  made  a  pleasant  green  bower  over- 
head. Here  the  children  flitted  from  bush  to, 
bush,  sharing  a  small  pail,  while  Frank  and 
Theodora  each  filled  a  large  one ;  and  Theo- 
dora was  almost  as  light-hearted  as  the  chil- 
dren, and  the  world  seemed  very  bright,  as 
the  mellow  sunlight  fell  on  the  little  group  of 
merry,  upturned  faces. 


208  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  Here  are  some  very  large  currants,"  said 
Guy  at  length.  "  I  want  you  to  have  them, 
Aunt  Theodora,"  and  he  slipped  his  small 
hand  over  the  edge  of  her  pail  to  drop  in  the 
juicy  red  cluster.  The  sight  of  that  sturdy 
little  right  hand  brought  to  her  mind,  with  a 
sudden  shock,  the  remembrance  of  her  bro- 
ther's affliction. 

"  Maimed,  crippled,"  she  thought,  and  the 
world  seemed  suddenly  overshadowed,  while 
she  reproached  herself  for  having  completely 
forgotten  Edward's  misfortune  for  a  happy 
half  hour.  She  forgot  it  again  afterwards, 
when  Mr.  Compton  served  currants  and  bread- 
and-butter  and  cold  mutton  to  a  hungry  group, 
while  she  made  tea  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table ;  and  many  times,  in  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed, she  had  a  young,  irresponsible  feeling 
of  happiness. 

When  the  time  was  at  last  set  for  the 
return  of  her  brother  and  his  wife,  Theodora 
had  a  vague  sense  of  chill  and  disappoint- 
ment. She  was  not  used  to  self-analysis,  and 
took  it  for  granted  that  it  arose  because  she 
could  no  longer  forget  for  a  moment  the  ter- 
rible calamity  that  overshadowed  her  brother's 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.  209 

life.  As  the  hour  of  his  home-coming  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  her  light-heartedness  disap- 
peared, and  she  was  once  more  the  serious 
woman  burdened  with  many  cares.  How 
could  she  bear  the  first  greeting  ?  How  could 
she  hide  the  shrinking  that  any  physical  de- 
formity caused  her?  How  could  she  show 
her  sympathy,  and  yet  prevent  the  first  mo- 
ments from  being  too  tragic  ? 

When  the  hour  for  Edward's  arrival  actu- 
ally came,  as  Theodora  stood  at  the  parlor 
window  waiting  for  the  first  sight  of  the  re- 
turning travelers,  she  grew  more  and  more 
nervous.  At  last  she  saw  Dobbin  coming  into 
view,  and  then  she  had  a  glimpse  of  Marie, 
looking  very  pale  and  fagged,  poor  child,  and 
of  Edward,  pale  too,  but  with  a  smile  on  his 
lips.  She  had  a  sudden  impulse  to  flee,  but 
she  bravely  stood  her  ground.  The  carriage 
had  reached  the  front  gate  now,  and  they  were 
getting  out.  Edward  came  along  the  path, 
and  ran  up  the  steps  with  his  old  elastic 
tread,  and  in  another  minute  Theodora  rushed 
towards  him  with  outstretched  arms. 

"  Excuse  my  left  hand,  Theo,"  Edward  ex- 
claimed cheerily,  as  he  grasped  hers.  "If 


210  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

I  were  only  that  old  fellow  —  Briareus,  was 
it  ?  —  who  had  so  many,  I  could  give  you 
more  of  a  choice." 

"  Edward !  "  Her  voice  was  husky,  the 
tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and,  with  a  sudden 
abandon  of  feeling,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  his  neck  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

"  Dear  old  Theo,  don't  mind  so  much. 
I  'm  not  worth  all  this  commotion,"  he  said 
unsteadily.  Then,  after  a  moment,  he  added 
in  his  usual  cheerful  tones :  "  I  know  what  is 
troubling  you,  Theo,  my  love ;  you  are  worry- 
ing for  fear  the  Life  of  General  Nathaniel 
Bradlee  Davidson  will  never  get  written." 


XVI. 

WITH  the  return  of  her  brother,  Theodora, 
who  was  a  woman  of  one  idea  at  a.  time,  for- 
got Frank  Compton  altogether,  in  her  over- 
mastering desire  to  be  of  use  to  Edward. 
He  was  touched  by  her  devotion,  and  by  the 
self-abnegation  which  meant  so  much  from  a 
woman  of  her  type  ;  for  she  entirely  aban- 
doned her  old  position  of  mentor,  and  her  one 
wish  now  was  to  make  him  happy  in  his  own 
way.  Nathaniel  Bradlee  Davidson  and  the 
town-meeting  were  alike  consigned  to  obli- 
vion. He  had  always  loved  Theodora,  and, 
even  in  the  days  when  she  exasperated  him 
the  most,  he  had  regarded  her  as  a  sister  of 
whom  any  man  might  be  proud,  and  had 
taken  pleasure  in  her  many  mental  and  physi- 
cal attractions ;  but  now  that  she  had  given 
up  her  incorrigible  desire  to  improve  him,  he 
found  in  her  a  hundred  new  charms.  He  had 
never  suspected  that  she  had  such  a  tender 
and  lovable  side  ;  and  he  felt  a  sense  of  exhil- 


212  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

aration  when  he  succeeded  in  drawing  out 
from  this  proud  and  reserved  -woman  some 
half -shy  expression  of  the  strength  of  her 
love  for  him,  or  the  depth  of  her  tenderness. 
None  of  the  flirtations  of  his  early  days  had 
given  him  as  keen  enjoyment  as  the  study  of 
his  sister  under  these  new  conditions. 

He  was,  as  Frank  had  said,  a  brave  man, 
and  he  accepted  his  disability  as  a  brave  man 
should.  He  had  never  set  up  for  a  model  in 
any  respect,  and  his  creed  was  a  short  one ; 
but  he  firmly  believed  in  not  worrying  other 
people  with  his  misfortunes,  and  in  looking 
persistently  on  the  bright  side.  He  devoutly 
hoped  that  no  one  would  ever  realize  how 
much  he  suffered,  not  even  Marie  ;  but  Theo- 
dora, who  was  made  of  the  same  Spartan 
stuff,  divined  that  his  gayety  was  but  a  cloak 
to  hide  his  depression,  and  this  knowledge 
gave  the  final  touch  of  tenderness  to  her  man- 
ner. She  never  spoke  of  his  affliction,  but 
they  understood  each  other  without  words. 
Unhappiness  was  so  overwhelmingly  distaste- 
ful to  Edward,  that  he  cast  about  for  all 
the  alleviations  to  his  lot  that  he  could  find, 
and,  mingled  with  his  acute  pain,  there  was  a 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          213 

half-shamefaced  feeling  of  relief.  He  need 
no  longer  struggle  with  his  inertia  and  love  of 
ease.  Fate  had  settled  the  question  for  him, 
and  no  one  would  ever  again  expect  him  to 
become  an  eminent  artist.  "  Poor  old  David- 
son !  he  is  out  of  the  running  now,"  the  men 
would  say,  and  would  regard  him  all  the  more 
affectionately.  To  go  through  life  as  a  man 
of  genius  whose  career  has  been  prematurely 
cut  short  by  the  loss  of  his  right  hand  is 
tragic  ;  but  it  is  more  dignified  than  to  go 
through  it  as  a  man  of  genius  whose  career 
has  been  impeded  by  his  indolence.  So,  if 
life  was  hard  for  Edward  Davidson,  it  was 
not  without  its  compensations. 

At  present,  Theodora  was  the  greatest  of 
these.  Marie,  after  the  strain  that  she  had 
gone  through,  had  collapsed  utterly.  She 
was  well  enough  to  go  about  all  her  daily  avo- 
cations, including  her  painting,  but  she  was 
in  that  exhausted  state  of  the  nerves  when  a 
sharp  word  brings  tears  to  the  eyes,  and  the 
mind  refuses  to  act  with  its  accustomed  quick- 
ness. She  was  too  worn  out  and  depressed  to 
be  a  cheerful  companion  for  her  husband,  and 
at  first  she  welcomed  Theodora's  devotion  with 


214  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

self-reproachful  gratitude ;  but  a  few  days  of 
it,  coupled  with  Edward's  increasing  pleasure 
in  his  sister's  society,  was  enough  to  arouse,  in 
fresh  intensity,  her  sleeping  jealousy.  This 
was  the  worst  calamity  that  had  befallen  her. 
Hitherto  her  husband  had  shared  her  regret 
that  Theodora  was  a  fixture  in  the  household, 
but  to  have  him  enjoy  his  sister's  society  to 
the  extent  of  neglecting  his  wife  was  a  trial 
which  she  had  not  the  fortitude  to  bear.  It 
takes  not  only  a  generous  woman  to  rejoice 
in  her  husband's  absorption  in  another,  even 
if  the  other  is  his  sister,  but  a  woman  who 
is  mentally  and  physically  strong;  for  when 
the  head  is  tired,  and  the  body  racked  with 
pain,  it  is  impossible  to  take  a  healthy  view 
of  things.  Marie  no  longer  had  the  outlet 
of  her  husband's  sympathy,  but  kept  her  feel- 
ings to  herself,  where  they  smouldered  in 
unnatural  repression.  "  Oh,  she  is  good,  so 
good,  and  she  loves  Edward  so !  "  she  cried. 
"  What  am  I  that  I  should  hate  her  very 
goodness  ?  " 

Meanwhile  her  husband  and  his  sister  went 
their  way  with  a  serene  unconsciousness  of 
her  feelings  that  added  the  final,  poignant 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          215 

drop  to  her  cup  of  bitterness.  Theodora  was 
ready  to  walk  with  Edward  when  Marie  was 
too  tired  to  drag  herself  out  of  the  house,  or 
to  drive  or  row  with  him  when  Marie  was 
sketching.  She  played  chess  with  him  by  the 
hour  together,  a  game  in  which  his  wife  was 
not  proficient ;  and  she  let  him  read  aloud  to 
her  all  the  articles  in  which  her  sister-in-law 
had  no  interest.  Even  at  meal-times  Marie 
had  cause  for  jealousy,  for  Theodora  had 
taken  Edward's  place  at  the  foot  of  the  table, 
and  was  his  right  hand.  Poor  Marie,  down 
among  the  teacups,  with  Guy  on  one  side  of 
her  and  Gladys  on  the  other,  had  to  see  Theo- 
dora doing  all  those  little  services  for  Edward 
that  she  was  longing  to  do  herself.  She  was 
too  generous  to  show  by  word  or  deed  that  she 
was  disturbed  by  their  growing  intimacy,  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  urge  them  to  go  to 
walk  or  to  row  together ;  but  when  they  took 
her  words  at  their  face  value,  she  felt  annoyed 
by  their  lack  of  discernment,  and  hurt  by  their 
readiness  to  dispense  with  her  society. 

It  never  occurred  to  Theodora  that  her 
sister-in-law  would  not  be  grateful  to  her  for 
her  efforts  in  Edward's  behalf,  and  she  took 


216          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

pride  in  securing  an  uninterrupted  time  for 
Marie's  painting.  Marie  was  making  a  sketch 
of  the  willows  by  the  river,  in  the  late  after- 
noons, after  the  children  had  had  their  tea, 
and  that  was  the  hour  that  Theodora  generally 
chose  to  take  Edward  on  a  row  up  the  river. 
She  had  never  been  so  happy  as  she  was  during 
the  hours  when  they  glided  over  the  smooth 
water,  with  the  sunset  all  aglow  behind  the  sil- 
very-green willows,  and  that  touch  of  almost 
unearthly  beauty  over  the  landscape  which 
comes  but  once  in  the  twenty-four  hours,  and 
seems  all  the  more  exquisite  because  it  is  so 
soon  to  give  place  to  darkness.  As  she  and 
her  brother  talked  of  many  things,  she  had 
the  happy  consciousness  that  the  dreams  of 
her  girlhood  were  being  fulfilled  in  a  measure, 
for  she  was  becoming  indispensable  to  him ; 
only  it  was  all  so  sadly  different!  She  had 
hoped  then  to  help  him  to  accomplish  some 
great  work  that  should  make  his  name 
famous  throughout  the  world,  and  now  she 
could  only  help  him  to  bear  a  great  trial. 
His  increasing  affection  for  her  gave  her  a 
sense  of  pleasure  that  was  almost  pain  from 
its  keenness. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          217 

And  so,  night  after  night,  their  friendship 
grew,  while  Marie's  sketch  grew  also. 

One  afternoon,  while  Marie  was  at  work  on 
her  picture,  Mr.  Compton  came  across  the 
little  path  that  led  past  her  retreat,  and 
stopped  to  look  at  her  sketch. 

"  That  is  first-rate,"  he  said,  as  he  examined 
it  critically.  "  It  is  the  best  thing  that  you 
have  done  for  a  long  time." 

"  It  ought  to  be  good,  for  I  have  worked  at 
it  until  I  have  given  myself  a  frightful  head- 
ache and  rheumatism  from  having  my  feet  on 
this  damp  grass." 

"  It  is  too  late  for  you  to  be  out  here  ;  give 
me  your  traps  and  I  will  take  them  home  for 
you." 

"  I  must  do  a  little  more,"  she  pleaded,  "  for 
the  light  is  so  beautiful,  and  it  will  never  be 
the  same  again." 

He  went  into  the  next  house,  where  Mrs. 
Fraley  lived,  and  presently  returned  with  a 
rag-mat  for  Mrs.  Davidson  to  put  under  her 
feet,  and  a  coarse  gray  shawl  that  he  threw 
over  her  shoulders.  The  light  was  fast  fading, 
and  a  white  mist  was  rising  from  the  river. 
He  waited  patiently  until  she  should  be  ready 
to  go  home. 


218  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  Mrs.  Fraley  tells  me  that  you  come  to  see 
her  very  often,"  said  Marie,  as  she  put  the 
finishing  touches  to  a  willow.  "  I  think  that 
is  so  good  of  you.  I  wish  you  could  hear 
her  praise  you,  —  poor  old  soul!  It  must  be 
a  pleasure  to  be  in  one's  right  niche,"  she 
continued  with  a  little  sigh.  "  Whenever 
I  am  tired  and  discouraged,  it  is  a  comfort 
to  me  to  think  that  you  are  making  every- 
body happy,  and  doing  your  work  in  the  best 
possible  way." 

"  But  I  don't,"  he  said,  with  the  flush  of 
color  that  any  words  of  praise  or  blame  al- 
ways bi-ought  to  his  sensitive  face.  "I  do  it 
very  badly.  I  constantly  have  the  feeling 
that  I  have  only  half  expressed  my  thought 
in  my  sermons,  and  that  I  don't  do  half  I 
ought  to  do  for  the  parish." 

"  Everybody  agrees  with  me  in  thinking 
you  are  doing  everything  for  the  parish. 
You  can't  really  feel  discouraged.  Now  with 
me  "  —  She  paused. 

"  I  suppose  we  are  all  conscious  of  our 
shortcomings,"  he  rejoined.  "  Now  your  life 
looks  far  more  useful  and  satisfactory  to  me 
than  mine,  for  you  are  indispensable  to  your 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.         219 

family.  My  larger  world  could  get  on  very 
well  without  me,  but  your  little  world  would 
go  to  pieces  if  anything  should  happen  to 
you." 

"  My  little  world  could  get  on  very  well 
without  me,  for  Theodora  can  manage  the 
household  much  better  than  I  can." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Davidson,  don't  allow 
yourself  to  think  such  a  thing  for  a  moment. 
Your  sister-in-law  cannot  in  the  least  fill  your 
place." 

"  She  is  so  good,"  said  Marie  ;  "  but  she  is 
unsympathetic  sometimes,  and  she  does  not 
understand  me,  and  so  she  is  cold  and  hard 
occasionally." 

"  She  can  be  cold  and  hard,"  he  admitted. 
The  truth  was  that  he  had  missed  Theodora 
unspeakably  since  her  brother's  return,  and 
her  evident  friendly  indifference  to  himself  cut 
him  to  the  quick.  "  She  is  never  cold  or  hard 
to  Edward,"  justice  compelled  him  to  add. 

"  No  ;  she  is  absolutely  devoted  to  him." 

Marie  was  already  regretting  her  lack  of 
loyalty  in  making  any  criticisms  upon  her 
husband's  sister,  and  changed  the  subject. 

"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,"  she  said,  "  but 


220          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

when  I  feel  ill  I  can  paint  as  I  never  can 
when  I  am  well.  I  have  a  feverish  feeling 
that  some  one  is  behind  me  urging  me  on  and 
guiding  my  hand." 

"  If  you  feel  like  that,  you  must  go  home 
without  painting  another  stroke."  He  took 
her  easel  and  sketch  summarily  into  his  pos- 
session. "  Wait  a  minute  while  I  return  Mrs. 
Fraley's  rug,"  he  added,  "  and  I  will  walk 
home  with  you." 

As  they  crossed  the  meadow  together  to- 
wards the  road,  he  said,  "  I  am  surprised  that 
Mr.  and  Miss  Davidson  let  you  paint  to-day. 
You  look  too  ill  to  be  out  of  the  house ; "  and 
he  glanced  at  her  flushed  cheeks. 

"  I  don't  tell  them  how  I  feel ;  they  are  so 
happy  together  that  I  don't  want  to  spoil  their 
pleasure." 

Her  voice  broke.  She  brushed  her  hand 
hastily  across  her  eyes,  and  made  an  effort  to 
control  herself. 

"  It  would  spoil  their  pleasure  a  great  deal 
more  if  you  were  to  be  ill." 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  I  could  be  ill  and  die," 
she  cried  passionately.  "  That  would  be  much 
the  best  way  out  of  things." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          221 

"Mrs.  Davidson!"  he  exclaimed  in  dis- 
tressed tones.  "  Think  what  the  world  would 
be  for  your  husband  and  children  without  you, 
and  for  your  friends  !  You  must  not  say  such 
things." 

"  Yes,  I  must.  I  had  n't  meant  to  tell  you, 
but  I  must  speak  to  some  one,  or  I  shall  go 
insane.  I  am  of  no  account  in  the  world,  or 
even  in  my  own  family.  Theodora  is  all  in  all 
to  Edward  and  the  children,  and  I  —  There 
are  worse  things  than  losing  one's  right  hand. 
I  am  so  sensitively  organized  that  I  am  no 
more  fitted  to  cope  with  life  than  a  cripple 
or  a  deaf-mute.  I  am  so  weak  that  I  am  men- 
tally crippled.  I  am  a  moral  deaf-mute.  I 
do  not  dare  to  say  what  I  think.  Mr.  Comp- 
ton,  if  I  am  ever  insane,  you  will  know  that 
I  was  made  mad,  not  by  too  much  learning, 
but  by  too  much  goodness.  When  you  put  a 
woman  like  Theodora  Davidson  into  daily  con- 
tact with  a  weak  creature  like  myself,  the  re- 
sults are  worse  than  when  the  iron  pot  and 
earthen  vessel  go  down  the  stream  together. 
And,  after  all,  is  n't  it  partly  the  fault  of  the 
pot  for  being  too  strong?  " 

Her   eyes   were   very   wistful   and   appeal- 


222  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ing,  and  there  was  something  infinitely  touch- 
ing in  the  dejected  pose  of  her  beautiful 
head  and  the  penetrating  sadness  of  her  low 
voice. 

"  Mrs.  Davidson,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you," 
he  said,  much  moved.  "  You  have  been  work- 
ing too  hard,  and  so  you  see  everything  with 
a  twist.  I  am  sure  your  state  of  mind  is 
merely  temporary.  You  are  worn  out  with 
the  terrible  strain  of  Ned's  accident." 

Marie  was  silent,  and  they  presently  began 
to  talk  of  other  things. 

When  Mr.  Compton  bade  Mrs.  Davidson 
good-by  at  her  gate,  her  conscience  was  already 
reproaching  her. 

"  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  if  what  I 
have  told  you  has  prejudiced  you  against 
Theodora,"  she  said.  "  She  is  so  devoted 
to  me  and  mine  that  it  is  very  ungrateful 
in  me  to  have  these  wretched,  unjustifiable 
feelings." 

"Nothing  can  prejudice  me  against  her. 
She  is  so  generous  and  magnanimous  that  I 
am  sure  she  would  not  consciously  cause  you  a 
moment's  pain.  Of  course  I  can't  help  seeing 
her  occasional  lack  of  sympathy ;  but,  take  her 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.         223 

for  all  in  all,  she  is  the  finest  woman  I  have 
ever  known ;  and  so  I  am  sure  that  everything 
will  come  out  right  in  the  end.  Good-by," 
and  he  pressed  her  hand  affectionately ;  "  you 
will  be  happy  when  you  are  stronger." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  are  like  Ed- 
ward. He  always  expects  everything  to  come 
out  right,  but  there  is  no  cure  for  incompat- 
ibility. It  is  an  awful  thing  when  two  people 
are  forced  to  live  under  the  same  roof  who 
cannot  understand  each  other,  and  who  love  a 
third  inmate  of  the  household  with  their  whole 
strength  while  they  hate  each  other  in  their 
heart  of  hearts.  "What  have  I  said  ?  " 

She  was  shocked  when  she  heard  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  months  put  into  bald  words,  whose 
strength  she  realized  by  their  effect  on  her 
companion. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me," 
she  added,  with  a  pathetic  little  break  in  her 
voice.  "  Please  forget  everything  that  I  have 
said,  and  only  remember  that  I  am  too  ill  and 
unhappy  to  care  whether  I  live  or  die.  Theo- 
dora is  a  fine  woman.  It  is  not  her  fault  that 
I  am  weak  and  jealous  and  tried  by  trifles.  I 
am  glad  that  Edward  has  such  a  stimulating 


224          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

companion,  and  that  the  children  are  so  well 
cared  for,  at  least  I  am  when  I  am  in  my  right 
mind.  Oh  dear !  I  don't  see  why  sensitive 
people  were  ever  put  into  this  rough  world. 
It  is  no  place  for  them.  Good-night." 


XVII. 

MR.  COMPTON  was  greatly  worried  by  Mrs. 
Davidson's  condition,  and  he  urged  her  hus- 
band to  take  her  away  from  Edgecomb  at  once, 
for  he  believed  that  she  would  soon  recover 
her  old  tone  in  a  more  bracing  climate.  As 
the  baby  and  Guy  were  ailing  too,  he  suggested 
that  their  father  and  mother  should  take  them 
to  the  mountains,  and  that  Miss  Davidson 
should  stay  behind  with  the  older  children. 

Edward,  however,  could  not  see  the  neces- 
sity of  leaving  his  sister  in  Edgecomb. 

"  The  poor  girl  has  n't  been  'away  from 
home  all  summer,"  he  said.  "  And  besides,  I 
should  miss  her  dreadfully.  She  is  awfully 
sweet,  Frank,  if  one  is  only  unfortunate 
enough.  If  we  go  at  all,  we  must  all  go. 
The  family  has  been  separated  too  much  al- 
ready. But,  Frank,  you  don't  think  there  is 
anything  seriously  amiss  with  Marie?"  he 
asked  anxiously. 

"  She   had   a   severe  strain  at  the  time  of 


226          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

your  accident,  and  she  seems  very  much  out 
of  spirits,  but  I  think  all  she  needs  is  change 
of  air,  rest,  and  your  entire  devotion.  Have 
you  ever  thought  "  —  He  hesitated,  and  the 
color  came  into  his  face.  "  Has  it  ever  oc- 
curred to  you,"  he  began  again,  "  that,  with  the 
best  of  intentions  on  both  sides,  and  although 
they  are  very  fond  of  each  other,  your  wife  and 
your  sister  are  so  fundamentally  different  that 
they  do  not  quite  —  pull  together  ?  " 

"  Thought  of  it !  Good  Lord !  The  thought 
has  been  consuming  me  and  preying  into  my 
vitals,  as  it  were,  for  the  last  six  months. 
Why  should  they  pull  together?  My  dear 
boy,  do  you  expect  a  thrush  to  be  put  in 
harness  comfortably  with  an  eagle  ?  " 

"  Opposite*  often  have  an  attraction  for 
each  other,"  Frank  hazarded. 

" '  I  believe  to  you  that,'  as  the  Portu- 
guese grammar  says ;  otherwise,  Fanny,  my 
love,  you  and  I  would  be  bitter  enemies." 

"  Ned,  do  stop  joking  for  one  moment. 
Your  wife  may  be  seriously  ill  if  something  is 
not  done  at  once,  and  I  am  sure  that  she  will 
get  well  much  faster  if  she  and  your  sister  are 
separated  for  a  few  weeks  :  that  is  the  plain 
English  of  it." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          227 

Edward's  face  grew  grave. 

"  Then  you  will  go  away  without  your  sis- 
ter ?  "  Frank  proceeded. 

"  No,  I  won't.  It  would  make  her  too  un- 
happy; but  I  will  promise  to  devote  myself  to 
the  thrush  from  early  morn  till  dewy  eve,  and 
let  the  eagle  forage  for  herself." 

Edward  might  talk  in  this  light  fashion, 
but  nevertheless  he  was  greatly  distressed  and 
perplexed.  Ever  since  his  return  he  had 
been  so  absorbed  in  showing  his  gratitude  to 
his  sister,  whom  he  felt  he  had  neglected  in 
the  past,  that  he  had  forgotten  his  wife  might 
not  sympathize  with  his  changed  point  of  view. 
The  pendulum,  it  seemed,  had  swung  too  far, 
and  now  he  must  needs  devote  himself  to  his 
wife,  to  the  comparative  neglect  of  his  sister. 
He  felt  that  it  would  be  better  to  take  Theo- 
dora away  with  them,  for  leaving  her  behind 
would  not  tend  to  the  solution  of  the  real  prob- 
lem ;  the  same  conditions  would  have  to  be 
faced  upon  their  return.  No,  he  must  needs 
be  the  mediator  between  these  two,  and  find 
some  way  of  satisfying  them  both.  Theodora 
had  certainly  been  a  most  exasperating  inmate 
of  the  household  at  periods,  but  she  had  also 


228          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

shown  great  self-f orgetf ulness  in  taking  charge 
of  a  houseful  of  unruly  children  while  Marie 
was  away,  and  she  deserved  a  vacation. 

As  a  consequence  of  this  conversation,  Lit- 
tleton, New  Hampshire,  was  selected  as  the 
place  for  their  summer  outing,  and  rooms  were 
engaged  there  for  the  whole  family. 

As  the  day  fixed  upon  for  their  departure 
approached,  it  became  evident  that  Marie  was 
in  no  condition  to  take  the  journey.  She 
was  flushed  and  feverish,  and  had  one  or  two 
severe  chills.  Dr.  Reycroft  was  summoned, 
and  forbade  her  going  away  from  home  at 
present.  At  this  juncture  he  went  out  of 
town  for  a  few  days,  leaving  his  patients  in 
charge  of  his  assistant.  As  it  was  important 
to  get  the  baby  and  Guy  and  their  father  out 
of  the  heat  as  soon  as  possible,  Theodora  pro- 
posed to  the  young  doctor  that  her  brother 
should  establish  the  children  and  their  nurse 
at  Littleton,  and  that  she  and  her  sister-in-law 
should  follow  as  soon  as  the  latter  was  well 
enough.  Dr.  Murdock  acceded  to  her  plan  at 
once.  He  was  just  out  of  the  medical  school, 
and  was  by  nature  diffident  and  lacking  in 
self-confidence,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  him,  in 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          229 

the  absence  of  his  chief,  to  lean  upon  Miss 
Davidson's  strength.  Marie  had  been  very 
quiet  and  apathetic  ever  since  she  had  opened 
her  heart  to  Mr.  Compton,  but  she  did  not 
hear  this  project  in  silence. 

"  I  cannot  let  my  husband  go  away,"  she 
remonstrated  timidly.  "  I  would  much  rather 
have  him  stay  with  me,  and  let  Miss  Davidson 
take  the  children  to  Littleton." 

Dr.  Murdock  disliked  to  take  sides  against 
any  woman.  He  fidgeted  about  nervously  in 
his  chair,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  We  hope  to  have  you  as  right  as  a  trivet 
in  two  or  three  days,"  he  said;  "but  your 
husband  needs  the  change,  and  in  case  of  ill- 
ness he  would  be,  on  account  of  his  accident, 
absolutely  helpless,  whereas  Miss  Davidson 
is  a  born  nurse,"  he  added  with  admiration. 
"  You  should  see  her  superintending  the  nurses 
at  the  hospital.  By  Jove  !  I  believe  she  knows 
more  about  illness  by  intuition  than  I  do  after 
all  my  study." 

Marie's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she 
turned  her  face  to  the  wall.  She  longed  for 
Dr.  Reycrof t,  who  would  have  understood  her ; 
but  she  could  not  tell  this  young  fellow,  who 


230          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

admired  Theodora  so  heartily,  that  she  felt  it 
would  kill  her  to  have  her  for  a  nurse  ;  the 
thing  seemed  too  unreasonable  ;  he  would  think 
that  she  was  out  of  her  mind.  She  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  burning  head,  and  wondered  if 
perhaps  the  fever  had  not  crazed  her  already. 

"  When  does  Dr.  Reycroft  come  back  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"•  Day  after  to-morrow,  and  I  hope  by  that 
time  that  Mr.  Davidson  and  the  children  will 
be  in  Littleton,  and  that  you  can  follow  with 
Miss  Davidson  the  first  of  the  Week." 

She  had  a  despairing  sense  of  helplessness 
as  she  heard  these  words,  but  she  decided  to 
make  a  final  appeal  to  her  husband.  It 
chanced,  however,  that  Theodora  was  unwit- 
tingly the  person  to  whom  it  was  made.  She 
came  into  Marie's  room  to  bring  her  some 
sweet  peas,  soon  after  the  doctor  had  departed. 
It  was  a  close,  hot  day,  but  Theodora  looked 
delightfully  cool  in  a  white  dress,  with  pale- 
blue  ribbons  around  her  waist  and  her  throat. 
She  seemed  the  embodiment  of  health  and 
strength  as  she  crossed  the  room. 

"You  look  flushed,"  she  said,  as  she  left 
the  sweet  peas  on  the  table  by  Marie's  side. 
"  Shall  I  open  the  other  window?  " 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          231 

"No,  thank  you.  I  wish  you  would  take 
those  flowers  away;  they  make  me  ill.  My 
head  is  aching  so  that  I  can  hardly  bear  it," 
she  added  despairingly. 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  Shan't  I  stroke  your 
forehead  ?  Perhaps  I  could  make  the  pain 
go  away." 

"  No,  thank  you.     Where  is  Edward  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  down  town." 

"  When  he  comes  back,  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  You  shall,  but  until  he  comes  I  will  sit  in 
the  next  room,  where  you  can  call  me  if  you 
want  anything." 

She  was  unbearable  to  Marie.  Her  neatly 
arranged  hair,  her  fresh,  unruffled  appearance, 
a  certain  coolness  of  temperament  and  deft- 
ness of  touch,  in  short  all  the  things  which 
united  to  make  her  a  "  born  nurse,"  were  to 
poor  Marie  only  so  much  fuel  to  fan  the  flame 
of  her  irritation.  Her  nerves  were  quivering, 
her  whole  energy  was  bent  upon  keeping  her- 
self on  this  side  of  the  line  "  beyond  which 
madness  lies."  The  fever  was  burning  in  her 
brain,  and  it  distorted  everything. 

Theodora,  calm  and  unperturbed,  went  over 
to  Marie's  work-table  and  took  out  some  stock- 


232  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ings  that  needed  mending.  Her  soft  tread 
seemed  like  the  tramp  of  an  army  to  her  sis- 
ter-in-law. She  crossed  the  room  again,  and 
pushed  up  the  other  window.  "  I  am  sure 
you  will  feel  better  if  you  have  more  air,"  she 
observed. 

Marie  clenched  her  hands,  but  did  not 
speak. 

Theodora  stopped  to  straighten  a  rug,  and 
then  started  to  take  the  sweet  peas  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Leave  them,"  Marie  commanded,  "  I  like 
to  see  them ;  but  oh,  do,  do  go  away  !  " 

"  Why,  Marie  !  "  Theodora  said  in  surprise, 
"  what  has  come  over  you  ? "  and  she  added 
in  a  low  tone,  "  It  is  the  fever." 

"  It  is  not  the  fever.  I  am  quite  myself. 
Do  go  away,  please,  and  tell  Dr.  Murdock 
that  I  don't  want  you  for  a  nurse.  I  want 
Edward,  even  if  he  doesn't  know  anything 
about  illness.  You  can  take  the  children  to 
Littleton,  and  let  him  stay  with  me." 

Theodora  was  too  good  a  nurse  to  urge  the 
wisdom  of  her  own  plans  when  her  patient 
was  in  such  an  excitable  condition,  so  she 
said  gently,  "  Very  well,  dear,  if  you  prefer  it 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          233 

Edward  shall  stay  with  you,  and  I  will  take 
the  children  to  Littleton.  And  if  any  one 
else  is  needed,  we  can  get  a  trained  nurse  from 
the  hospital,"  she  added,  half  to  herself. 

Marie  shuddered.  "  Oh,  not  a  trained  nurse, 
Theodora !  That  would  be  terrible.  I  could 
not  have  a  stranger  take  care  of  me.  Promise 
me  that  I  shall  not  have  a  trained  nurse,  what- 
ever happens,"  she  entreated. 

"  My  dear,  I  can't  promise  that ;  but  I 
don't  believe  there  will  be  any  need  of  one ; 
there  certainly  will  not  if  I  stay  here." 

"  But  I  want  Edward." 

"  You  shall  have  him,"  Theodora  said  sooth- 
ingly. "  He  will  stay  with  you  in  any  event." 

Marie  sank  back  on  her  pillows  and  seemed 
comforted.  "  You  are  telling  me  the  truth  ?  " 
she  asked  presently.  "  I  shall  not  wake  up 
some  morning  and  find  Edward  gone  ?  " 

"  Marie,  have  I  ever  deceived  you?" 

"  No,  you  never  have." 

Everything  might  have  gone  on  with  out- 
ward tranquillity,  and  Theodora  might  never 
have  discovered  her  sister-in-law's  real  feel- 
ings, if  there  had  not  been  at  this  moment  a 
loud  wail  from  the  lower  regions,  where  the 


234          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

children  were  playing.  Into  the  midst  of  this 
war  Theodora  descended  like  an  avenging 
goddess.  She  upbraided  them  for  making  a 
noise  and  disturbing  their  mother,  and  she 
thrust  Guy,  who  seemed  to  be  the  ringleader, 
into  the  depths  of  the  hall  closet.  When  she 
returned,  Marie  drew  from  her  a  full  account 
of  the  fray. 

"  I  can't  have  my  little  Guy  punished  in 
that  cruel  way,"  she  said,  with  heightened 
color.  "  He  is  terribly  afraid  of  the  dark ; 
when  I  shut  him  up  in  the  closet  I  always 
shut  myself  in  with  him,  so  he  shall  not  be 
frightened.  Go  down  at  once,  Theodora,  and 
let  him  out." 

"  But,  my  dear,"  Theodora  expostulated, 
"  I  told  him  he  must  stay  there  until  he  prom- 
ised to  be  good." 

"  He  never  will ;  he  is  n't  that  kind.  Go 
down  at  once,  Theodora." 

Theodora  obeyed,  somewhat  reluctantly,  but 
she  stayed  with  Guy  until  he  gave  the  re- 
quired promise.  She  found  Marie  quivering 
with  excitement  upon  her  return.  "  You  did 
not  let  him  out  at  once,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
allow  you  to  go  to  Littleton,  if  you  are  going 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          235 

to  put  my  children  in  the  closet.  Do  you  often 
punish  them  ?  " 

"  Very  seldom." 

"  You  have  n't  ever  slapped  their  hands, 
have  you  ? "  Marie  asked  with  sudden  sus- 
picion. 

"  Marie,  you  can  trust  me  never  to  punish 
them  when  it  is  not  necessary,  nor  to  hurt 
them  severely,  for  I  love  them  too  well." 

"  I  can't  have  their  hands  slapped,"  Marie 
cried.  "  You  must  promise  me  never  to  slap 
their  hands,  never,  never,  Theodora.  I  would 
not  have  believed  it  of  you.  I  knew  that  you 
were  sometimes  cold  and  unkind  to  older 
people,  but  I  thought  wou  loved  children." 

"I,  cold  and  unkind  to  older  people ? 
What  do  you  mean  ?  Don't  be  afraid  of 
telling  me  the  whole  truth." 

"  If  you  want  the  truth,  you  shall  have  it," 
said  Marie  desperately.  "  You  are  sometimes 
cold  and  hard,  because  you  have  n't  the  faint- 
est conception  of  what  it  means  to  put  your- 
self in  another  person's  place." 

"  Marie  !  I  am  putting  myself  in  your  place 
now,  and  I  know  just  how  ill  you  are  feeling, 
and  that  by  and  by  "  — 


236          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

"  No,  it  is  n't  that.  I  may  not  have  the 
courage  to  speak  by  and  by,  but  I  shall  be 
feeling  angry  and  rebellious  just  the  same." 

"  Angry  and  rebellious  on  account  of  some- 
thing that  I  have  done  ? "  Theodora  asked 
anxiously.  "  Tell  me  what  you  object  to,  and 
and  I  won't  do  it  any  more." 

A  sudden  wicked  impulse  came  to  Marie, 
apparently  from  the  outside,  to  let  Theodora 
know  all  that  was  in  her  mind.  Perhaps  she 
had  already  crossed  the  line  where  responsi- 
bility ends. 

"  It  would  be  easier  to  tell  you  what  you 
have  not  done,"  she  said  passionately.  "  Ever 
since  you  came  here,  you  have  been  doing  first 
one  thing  and  then  another.  You  took  away 
the  housekeeping ;  you  wanted  to  give  my 
child  an  odious  name ;  you  cut  off  my  little 
girls'  beautiful  curls ;  and  you  turned  our 
comfortable  studio  into  a  prim  place,  where 
Edward  would  not  work  because  it  was  so 
unhomelike." 

"  Marie !  " 

"  You  think  I  am  delirious.  If  you  won't 
believe  me,  ask  Edward ;  perhaps  you  will 
believe  him." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          237 

"  My  dear,  you  must  stop  talking,  or  the 
doctor  will  never  forgive  me." 

"  I  am  sure  you  think  that  I  am  out  of 
my  head,  but  I  am  not.  I  sometimes  fancy  I 
shall  be  insane,  and  if  I  am  it  will  be  you  who 
have  brought  it  about,  —  you  !  And  you  want 
me  to  stop  talking  and  to  think  of  something 
else  !  Oh,  I  have  such  a  pain  in  my  head," 
she  moaned,  u  and  I  feel  so  ill !  Won't  you 
go  down  town  and  get  Edward,  please  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  with  you  all  night  and  all 
to-day.  He  is  so  used  up  that  he  needs  the 
rest,  but  I  will  let  Elizabeth  take  my  place 
now,  and  I  will  send  him  to  you  the  minute 
he  comes  home." 

"  You  consider  me  selfish  and  exacting,  and 
so  you  are  taking  Edward  away  from  me 
more  and  more.  You  think  me  too  weak  and 
incapable  to  do  things  for  him  and  the  chil- 
dren, but  I  was  strong  enough  to  be  Edward's 
nurse,  and  the  doctor  said  a  trained  nurse 
could  not  have  done  better.  I  was  strong 
enough  to  stay  with  him  all  through  the  ter- 
rible operation,  so  that  my  face  should  be  the 
last  thing  he  should  see  before  he  was  uncon- 
scious, and  the  first  thing  when  he  came  out 


238  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

of  the  ether."  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  "  It  was  horrible  !  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  it." 

"  It  must  have  been  an  awful  shock,"  said 
Theodora,  "  and  you  had  n't  the  strength  to 
bear  it ;  if  I  had  only  gone  to  him  and  "  — 

"  You  ?  You  feel  that  you  can  make  every- 
thing right  in  God's  universe;  and  yet,  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  you,  he  might  be  well  now." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  drove  him  away.  You  made  him  go 
to  the  Rangeley  Lakes  because  home  was  so 
uncomfortable.  If  he  had  stayed  at  home,  he 
would  be  well  now." 

At  last  Theodora  lost  control  over  herself. 
"  I  sometimes  think  that  if  I  had  gone  to  him 
he  would  be  well  now,"  she  said. 

Marie  started  up  in  bed.  Her  eyes  grew 
wild,  and  she  gave  a  low  cry.  "  Theodora  ! 
oh,  Theodora,  you  will  kill  me  if  you  say 
that !  Go  away !  Oh,  go  away !  I  wish 
that  you  would  go  out  of  the  house,  out  of 
the  town,  far,  far  away,  and  that  I  might 
never,  never  see  you  again  !  And  if  you  won't 
believe  me,  ask  Mr.  Compton  if  he  did  not 
say  that  you  could  be  hard  and  cold,  and  ask 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          239 

Edward  if  he  did  not  say,  over  and  over 
again,  that  he  wished  you  would  go,  but  that 
'unfortunately  one  could  not  divorce  a  sister!' 
Shut  the  door,  and  don't  dare  to  come  in  here 
again  to-day ! " 


XVIII. 

AT  first  Theodora  had  regarded  Marie's 
words  as  having  but  a  slight  foundation  of 
truth,  which  her  excitable  state  of  mind  mag- 
nified, but  what  she  said  concerning  Edward 
smote  her  to  the  heart.  Marie  could  not  have 
invented  the  sentence  about  his  wishing  that 
he  could  divorce  a  sister.  The  idea  that  her 
brother  had  ever  wanted  her  to  leave  him 
came  like  a  bolt  from  a  clear  sky.  The 
events  of  the  past  fourteen  months  flashed  be- 
fore her  in  swift  succession.  Could  it  be  that 
all  the  deeds  that  she  had  done  from  the  most 
conscientious  of  motives  had  merely  resulted 
in  alienating  from  her  the  affection  of  her 
brother  and  his  wife  ?  She  had  a  horrible 
feeling  of  black  depression,  without  a  glimpse 
of  light.  If  these  things  that  Marie  had  said 
were  true,  where  was  there  any  comfort  or 
hope  for  her  ? 

Edward  had  not  yet  come  in,  so  Theodora 
sent  Elizabeth  to  Marie,  and,  hastily  putting 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          241 

on  her  hat,  she  went  out  into  the  intense 
August  heat.  Not  a  breath  was  stirring, 
and  almost  all  the  inhabitants  of  Edgecomb 
were  sheltered  behind  green  blinds.  She  went 
swiftly  down  the  main  street,  thinking  only  of 
the  terrible  words  which  had  burned  into  her 
very  soul ;  and  as  she  thought  of  them,  a 
blind  anger  seized  her  against  the  woman  who 
had  made  such  havoc  in  her  happy  life.  And 
everybody  loved  Marie ;  even  Francis  Comp- 
ton  had  nothing  but  praise  for  her ;  while,  in 
speaking  of  herself,  he  who  had  known  her  in 
her  great  sorrow  had  called  her  hard  and  cold. 
As  she  went  along  the  quiet  street  and  glanced 
at  the  familiar  houses,  she  thought  of  the 
bright  day,  scarcely  more  than  a  year  ago, 
when  she  had  passed  them  on  her  first  arrival, 
with  her  brother  by  her  side,  proud  and  happy 
to  have  her  with  him,  and  in  the  bitterness  of 
her  heart  she  cried  out,  "  It  is  that  woman 
who  has  done  it ;  it  is  she  who  has  poisoned 
Edward's  mind."  She  kept  on  and  on,  past 
the  shops,  where  a  few  loafers  were  lazily 
smoking,  who  looked  at  her  as  one  looks  at  a 
brilliant  comet;  past  the  parsonage,  with  its 
green  blinds  closed ;  and  then  on  and  on  until 


242  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

she  came  to  the  little  cemetery,  green  and 
white,  and  hardly  more  peaceful  than  the  town 
itself.  She  had  had  no  object  in  view  when 
she  started  on  her  walk,  but  she  turned  in  at 
the  gate,  as  if  it  had  been  her  destination  from 
the  first.  She  walked  along  its  shady  paths 
until  she  came  to  the  Davidson  lot,  and  then 
she  sank  down  on  the  bank  outside  of  the  iron, 
vine-covered  fence.  The  sight  of  the  graves 
of  her  father  and  mother  brought  the  past 
more  vividly  before  her  than  anything  else 
could  have  done.  She  saw  herself,  a  slim, 
overgrown  girl,  with  a  heart  full  of  passionate 
rebellion  against  her  father  and  his  new  wife ; 
and  then  as  a  hard-working  student,  too  bent 
on  accomplishing  her  education  to  have  time 
for  girlish  friendships ;  and  again  she  saw 
herself  in  the  coveted  position  of  teacher  of 
other  girls.  She  had  been  happier  then,  for 
the  girls  had  admired  her,  and  she  had  been  of 
use ;  but  she  asked  herself  if  even  then  she  had 
been  greatly  loved.  Was  she  to  go  through 
her  whole  life  regarded  merely  as  a  useful 
woman  and  an  agreeable  acquaintance,  when 
she  was  hungering  and  thirsting  for  love  ? 
For  the  love  of  a  brother  and  his  wife  and 


THE  COMING   OF  TUEODOEA.          243 

their  children?  —  a  love  that  happier  women 
hardly  remember  to  be  grateful  for,  counting 
it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Must  her  life  always 
be  full  of  work,  work,  work,  with  no  thanks 
and  scant  affection?  Was  there  no  one  to 
understand  her  ?  No  one  to  realize  that  she 
was  human,  and  cared  for  all  the  things  that 
other  women  love?  How  long  she  stayed 
there  she  did  not  know,  but  she  was  finally 
aroused  from  her  reverie  by  the  sight  of  fleecy 
clouds  in  the  west,  tinged  with  pink,  and,  has- 
tily rising,  she  went  swiftly  out  of  the  gate 
and  turned  towards  home.  As  she  passed  the 
parsonage,  Mr.  Compton,  who  had  seen  her 
approaching,  came  out  to  ask  the  latest  news 
concerning  Mrs.  Davidson,  but  she  did  not  see 
him  and  went  quickly  by  the  house. 

"  Miss  Davidson,"  he  called  after  her, 
"are  you  trying  to  escape  from  your  best 
friends?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  turning  a  face  towards  him 
that  was  tragic  in  its  expression  of  hopeless- 
ness ;  "  I  am  only  trying  to  escape  from  my- 
self." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 
"  Is  Marie  worse  ?  " 


244          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  She  is  no  worse  ;  you  need  n't  be  alarmed, 
nothing  has  happened.  At  least,"  her  scru- 
pulous truthfulness  impelled  her  to  add,  "  no- 
thing has  happened  that  makes  a  difference  to 
any  one  but  me." 

"  But  if  it  concerns  you,  it  will  make  a  dif- 
ference to  me." 

"  You  like  to  say  pleasant  things,"  she  said 
bitterly. 

"  I  like  to  say  the  truth-." 

"  What  is  the  truth  ? "  she  cried  passion- 
ately. "  All  through  the  year  I  have  thought 
that  it  was  a  happiness  to  my  brother  and  his 
wife  to  have  me  live  with  them,  and,  now  that 
Marie  is  too  ill  to  control  her  words,  I  find  that 
it  was  all  a  mask,  a  hideous  mask  of  hypocrisy, 
and  that  in  reality  they  were  longing  to  have 
me  go  away.  God  deliver  us  from  the  truth ! 
God  keep  us  blind  always,  or  else  let  us  have 
the  truth  in  the  beginning  !  If  they  had  told 
me  frankly  at  first  that  I  tried  to  rule  their 
lives  too  much,  I  would  have  gone  back  to  my 
teaching;  but  to  tell  me  now,  when  I  have 
grown  to  love  the  children  as  if  they  were  my 
very  own,  and  my  brother  far  more  than  most 
women  love  their  husbands,  is  too  cruel." 


THE  COMING   OF   THEODORA.          245 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,"  Frank  said 
gently.  "  I  am  sure  your  brother  loves  you 
dearly,  and,  if  his  wife  has  been  made  jeal- 
ous by  his  affection  for  you,  it  is  not  strange 
if,  in  her  excitable  condition,  she  magnifies 
everything.  Perhaps  you  said  something, 
quite  inadvertently  of  course,  that  made  her 
angry." 

"  I  gave  her  no  provocation  that  I  can  re- 
member, but  she  upbraided  me  for  one  thing 
after  another,  and  finally  said  that  I  had 
driven  Edward  away  from  home,  and  therefore 
that  I  was  responsible  for  his  accident.  Oh,  I 
did  say  something  then !  I  lost  my  self-control, 
and  I  said  that  I  sometimes  thought  that  if  I 
had  gone  to  him  he  would  be  well  now." 

"  But  that  was  unkind.  How  could  you  say 
such  a  thing  to  the  poor  child  ?  " 

"  She  had  said  things  twenty  times  as  cruel 
to  me." 

"  But  she  is  ill  in  mind  and  body,  and 
you  "  - 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  say  it.  I  have  wanted 
to  say  it  many,  many  times,  but  I  had  never 
said  it  before.  I  tried  hard  to  be  fair-minded 
and  sympathetic  ;  in  all  my  life  I  have  never 


246  THE  CONING  OF  THEODORA. 

tried  so  hard ;  but  the  words  escaped  me  in 
spite  of  myself." 

"  Go  back  and  beg  her  pardon.  Ask  her  to 
forgive  you  for  all  your  unconscious  mistakes, 
and  tell  her  that  you  have  seen  me,  and  that 
I  feel  sure  it  would  have  made  no  difference  if 
you  had  gone  to  Edward.  She  will  worry  her- 
self into  a  fever,  if  she  lies  there  thinking  that 
she  was  partly  responsible  for  the  loss  of  his 
hand.  And  even  now  she  will  be  consumed 
with  penitence  for  her  words  to  you.  You  do 
not  understand  her.  Hers  is  an  exceptionally 
sensitive  nature.  Go  back  and  comfort  her, 
and  all  may  yet  be  right." 

"  If     Comfort  her  ?     I  ask  her  pardon  ?  " 
"  Yes,  for  you  are  strong,  and  she  is  ill." 
"  How  you  all  love   her !  "  she   said  vehe- 
mently.    "  Put  her  charming  personality  out 
of  your  mind  and  think  only  of  the  bare  facts. 
Don't  think  of  me  or  of  her,  but  of  the  right 
and  the  wrong  of  the  question,  and  then  you 
will  not  be  governed  by  a  personal  bias.     If 
you  think  of  her,  you  can't  —  no  man  could  — 
help  deciding  in  her  favor." 

"  It  is  of  the  right  and  the  wrong  of  the 
question  that  I  am  thinking.  If  I  allowed 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          247 

a  personal  bias  to  govern  me,  I  should  decide 
in  favor  of  you,"  he  said  impulsively. 

For  a  moment  she  raised  her  clear  blue 
eyes  to  his,  and  a  delicate  color  swept  over  her 
face ;  then  she  looked  away  from  him,  and 
began  to  talk  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  about 
the  advisability  of  getting  a  trained  nurse  for 
Marie. 

When  he  left  Theodora  at  her  gate,  he  gave 
her  hand  a  warm  pressure,  and  said,  "  If  I  can 
do  anything  for  you,  you  know  that  you  can 
count  upon  me  always." 

Theodora  went  directly  upstairs  to  Marie's 
room.  Her  anger  had  spent  itself,  and  in 
the  reaction  her  mind  was  full  of  forgiving 
thoughts. 

Marie  caught  sight  of  her  as  she  opened 
the  door. 

"  Take  that  woman  away !  "  she  cried.  "  She 
is  a  horrid  woman  —  a  hideous,  ugly,  excel- 
lent, virtuous  woman  !  " 

The  little  doctor,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
room  with  Edward  and  the  maid,  came  apolo- 
getically into  the  entry  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

"  She  has  been  violently  delirious  for  the 


248  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

last  hour,"  he  explained,  "  and  something 
seems  to  excite  her  against  you.  Sick  people, 
you  know,  often  take  a  dislike  to  their  best 
friends.  I  have  telephoned  to  Dr.  Reycroft, 
and  he  will  get  back  to-morrow  morning,  I  am 
happy  to  say  ;  I  have  given  her  husband  and 
the  maid  full  directions  as  to  what  is  to 
be  done  until  he  comes ;  and  I  am  sorry,  but 
I  am  afraid  that  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  keep 
out  of  the  room." 

That  evening,  as  Edward  and  his  sister  sat 
forlornly  over  their  tea,  he  asked  her  what  she 
thought  of  Marie's  condition.  "  Murdock  is 
non-committal,"  he  added.  "  It  is  my  belief 
that  he  does  not  know  as  much  about  the  case 
as  you  do." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  she  said  faintly.  "  I 
know  altogether  too  much  about  it;  I  know 
that,  quite  unwittingly,  I  have  aggravated  her 
condition." 

"You,  Theo?" 

His  surprised  tone  gave  her  a  moment  of 
hope. 

"  She  thinks  that  I  have  taken  too  much 
upon  my  shoulders  ;  that  I  have  been  man- 
aging ;  and  it  has  worried  her.  I  only  meant 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          249 

to  save  her,  but  it  seems  —  Edward,"  she 
asked  desperately,  "is  it  true  that  you,  too, 
have  wished  that  I  would  go  away?  Did 
you  ever  say,  —  I  entreat  you  to  tell  me  the 
absolute  truth,  it  is  a  matter  of  vital  impor- 
tance,— did  you  say  that  'unfortunately  one 
could  never  divorce  a  sister  '  ?  " 

Poor  Edward  was  very  unhappy.  There 
was  something  in  his  sister's  burning  gaze 
that  demanded  the  whole  truth.  "  Dear  child," 
he  said  finally,  "  you  know  my  joking  way. 
You  must  never  take  what  I  say  seriously. 
I  dare  say  I  may  have  said  a  hundred  things 
of  the  kind.  And  yet  in  my  heart  I  am  only 
too  delighted  to  have  you  live  here  always,  and 
so  will  Marie  be  when  she  is  herself  again." 

"  No,  Edward,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head 
sorrowfully,  "nothing  can  ever  be  the  same 
again.  Poor  Marie !  How  much  she  must 
have  suffered  before  she,  a  woman  who  would 
rather  die  than  give  the  humblest  creature 
pain,  could  have  said  the  things  she  did ! 
But  oh,  Edward,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  the 
truth  ?  I  would  have  gone  away  in  a  moment, 
if  you  had  only  given  me  the  slightest  hint." 

"  Theo,  my  dear  Theo  !  "     He  rose   as  he 


250  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

spoke  and  came  over  to  her  end  of  the  table. 
She  rose,  too.  They  stood  looking  at  each 
other  mournfully. 

"  My  dear,  you  know  that  I  am  impatient, 
and  I  was  tried  by  your  constant  efforts  to 
reform  me.  That  was  all  my  fault.  If  I 
had  only  been  the  model  fellow  you  wanted 
to  make  me,  I  should  never  have  had  any 
little  feelings  of  irritation.  If,  like  '  pretty 
little  Mary  Wood,  I  had  always  done  the  best 
I  could  '  "  - 

"  Don't,  Edward,  this  is  no  time  for  joking." 
"  Theo,  dear,"  and  he  flung  his  arms  around 
her  and  kissed  her,  "  let  us  forget  it  all  and 
make  a  fresh  start.  I  am  awfully  fond  of  you 
now.  We  will  wash  off  the  slate  and  do  the 
sums  all  over  again,  just  as  we  used  to  do 
when  we  were  children.  Don't  you  remember 
how  you  helped  me  with  my  arithmetic  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  must  have  been  an  odious,  man- 
aging little  thing,  even  then." 

"  Come,  dear,  shall  we  forgive  and  forget?  " 

"  Wre  will  forgive,  Edward,  but  such  things 

can't  be  forgotten.     They  have  gone  too  deep. 

Marie  can  never  love  me  after  this ;  and  if 

I  stayed  on,  now  that  I  know  how  she    feels 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODOEA.        251 

towards  me,  I  should  be  miserable.  Fancy 
living  in  an  atmosphere  where  you  were  con- 
scious every  moment  that  you  were  disliked !  " 

"  Marie  does  n't  dislike  you,  Theo.  She  has 
a  very  high  opinion  of  you,  and  as  soon  as 
she  is  stronger  she  will  get  over  being  troubled 
by  the  little  things  that  have  disturbed  her." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  know  that  is  n't 
true.  You  are  only  saying  that  to  make  me 
happier.  She  may  have  a  high  opinion  of 
my  character ;  I  suppose  she  feels  that  my 
intentions  are  good ;  that,  in  short,  I  am  an 
'  excellent,  virtuous  woman,'  but  she  does  n't 
love  me,  and  she  never  will.  It  does  no  good 
to  refuse  to  face  things  fairly  and  squarely ; 
and,  now  that  I  know  the  truth  at  last,  I  am 
sure  that  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to 
go  away." 

"  But,  Theo,  where  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  To  Littleton  with  the  children,  and  while 
there  I  will  make  some  plan." 

"  We  can't  give  you  up  permanently,  Theo," 
he  said,  with  a  sudden  sense  of  the  loss  that 
would  come  to  his  life  if  she  were  taken  en- 
tirely out  of  it.  "  Marie  will  be  the  first,  when 
she  is  well,  to  urge  you  to  stay.  You  can  live 


252          THE  COMING    OF  THEODORA. 

with  us,  and  let  her  take  charge  of  things  her- 
self." 

"  Edward,  what  opinion  would  you  have  of 
me,  if  I  should  stay  after  what  has  happened  ? 
And  don't  think  that  I  blame  either  you  or 
Marie.  I  am  not  the  kind  of  person  who 
was  ever  meant  to  live  in  a  home.  I  was 
intended  "  — 

"  Theo,"  and  again  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  and  drew  her  towards  him.  "  Dear  old 
Theo,  I  really  don't  know  how  I  can  get  along 
without  you.  You  have  been  so  good  to  me 
these  last  few  weeks  !  I  can't  let  you  go." 

"  Don't  you  see,  dear,"  she  said  very  gently, 
"  that  the  only  thing  I  can  do  for  you  is  to 
leave  you  ?  Go  up  to  Marie  now,  and  if  you 
want  anything,  call  me.  I  shall  be  in  the  next 
room,  where  I  can  get  anything  you  need,  but 
where  I  shall  not  trouble  her." 

And  all  that  night  the  brother  and  sister 
kept  watch ;  he  where  he  could  comfort  Marie, 
and  she,  like  some  outcast,  sitting  alone  in  the 
darkness,  that  she  might  not  disturb  her,  think- 
ing through  the  long  night  of  her  bleak  future. 

When  Dr.  Reycroft  returned,  his  cheery, 
confident  presence  in  the  sick-room  did  much 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          253 

in  itself  for  Marie.  He  pronounced  that  she 
had  malarial  fever,  but  did  not  seem  in  the 
least  alarmed  by  her  condition.  He  secured 
a  trained  nurse  from  the  hospital,  whom  he 
introduced  to  Marie  as  a  friend  of  his,  and 
he  summarily  dispatched  Theodora  with  the 
children  and  their  nurse  to  Littleton. 

"Theo  is  a  fine  girl,"  Edward  said  of  her  to 
Frank  the  next  time  he  saw  him;  "there  is 
nothing  small  about  her.  Just  rouse  her  suffi- 
ciently, and  she  will  not  stick  at  any  generous 
deed.  But  it  takes  a  cannon-ball  to  do  it! 
Any  other  woman  would  have  been  made  alive 
to  the  fact  that  a  battle  was  impending  by 
the  sharpshooting  that  has  been  going  on  all 
summer." 

"  I  think  she  is  n't  sensitive  because  she  is 
more  high-minded  and  straightforward  than 
the  rest  of  us,"  Frank  returned.  "  She  is  so 
truthful  that  she  expects  it  of  other  people." 

"  But,  Heaven  help  us,  Frank !  We  can't 
all  of  us  go  through  the  world  telling  our 
fellow-creatures  in  plain  words  what  we  think 
of  them.  It  may  be  high-minded  and  straight- 
forward, but  it  would  be  deucedly  unpleas- 
ant." 


254  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  We  might  be  more  sincere  than  we  are, 
however." 

"  Come,  now,  Fanny,  my  love.  You  have 
nothing  with  which  to  accuse  yourself.  If 
you  are  going  to  be  any  more  sincere,  just 
say  good-by,  once  for  all  now,  to  Edward 
Davidson." 


XIX. 

A  COLD,  drizzling  rain  greeted  Theodora 
and  her  party  upon  their  arrival  at  Little- 
ton. The  mountains  had  entirely  vanished 
behind  the  mist,  and  the  view  consisted  of  a 
number  of  ugly  little  houses  in  the  immedi- 
ate foreground,  with  a  rolling,  hilly  country  in 
the  middle  distance,  sparsely  dotted  with  trees. 
The  cottage  where  they  had  rooms  was  con- 
nected with  the  hotel  by  a  steep  ascent  of 
planking  and  steps  under  a  covered  way,  but 
the  rain  came  in  at  the  sides  with  such  relent- 
less persistence  that,  if  it  continued,  their 
three  meals  a  day  promised  to  afford  a  water- 
cure.  Theodora  was  so  homesick  and  unset- 
tled that  the  feeling  amounted  to  physical  and 
mental  misery.  The  whole  depressing,  rain- 
blurred  view  seemed  a  fitting  accompaniment 
to  her  frame  of  mind.  Her  reason  told  her 
that  she  would  see  sunshine  and  mountains 
some  time,  and  that  her  life  would  by  and  by 
have  a  brighter  outlook;  but  at  present  the 


256          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

sunshine,  both  real  and  metaphorical,  seemed 
very  far  away.  She  sat  down  on  her  trunk, 
in  the  midst  of  the  chaos  of  a  first  arrival,  and 
wondered  how  she  could  live  through  the  four 
weeks  of  her  allotted  stay,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  drearier  life  that  lay  beyond,  for  here  she 
at  least  had  the  children.  It  was  not  until 
they  were  asleep  that  she  had  time  to  let  her 
thoughts  dwell  continuously  on  herself.  As  she 
sat  in  her  forlorn  room,  ostensibly  writing  let- 
ters by  the  light  of  a  kerosene  lamp,  while 
the  rain  beat  against  the  window-panes,  her 
thoughts  compassed  her  whole  past.  Very 
dreary  and  profitless  it  seemed  to  her ;  and  if 
she  had  been  asked  at  that  moment  if  life  were 
worth  the  living,  she  would  have  answered 
with  an  emphatic  "  No."  It  counted  for  no- 
thing that  she  had  been  radiantly  happy  dur- 
ing the  last  fourteen  months,  now  that  she 
knew  she  had  made  such  a  miserable  failure 
of  her  opportunities.  To  feel  dissatisfied  with 
herself,  and  thoroughly,  abjectly  humble,  was 
a  sensation  as  novel  as  it  was  overwhelming. 
These  appalling  discoveries  as  to  her  own 
character  that  had  been  forced  upon  her  were 
the  hardest  features  in  the  affair.  Heretofore 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          257 

she  had  never  questioned  that  her  aims  were 
of  the  highest,  and  that  she  was  to  be  a  power 
in  the  community ;  but  she  had  been  awak- 
ened from  her  happy  confidence  with  such  a 
rude  shock  that  she  felt  a  distrust  of  herself 
and  of  all  her  schemes  and  plans.  The  prac- 
tical difficulties  of  her  position  next  presented 
themselves,  and  she  asked  herself  to  what 
she  should  turn  her  hand  in  the  future  ;  for, 
although  she  had  sufficient  income  to  live 
where  she  pleased,  she  knew  that  she  would 
never  be  contented  to  lead  an  idle  life.  It 
was  too  late  in  the  year  to  get  a  position  as 
teacher,  but  what  did  it  matter  ?  She  felt  that 
the  spring  of  her  ambition  was  broken.  The 
only  part  of  the  last  fourteen  months  which  it 
did  not  fill  her  with  pain  and  humiliation  to 
contemplate  was  her  friendship  with  Francis 
Compton ;  but  even  here  she  could  find  little 
satisfaction,  for  their  intercourse  must  inevita- 
bly come  to  an  end,  together  with  all  other 
good  things,  when  she  should  leave  Edgecomb. 
In  the  weeks  that  followed,  she  managed 
to  keep  busy,  and  so  in  a  measure  to  drive 
away  thought,  but  there  was  an  undercurrent* 
of  depression  that  made  the  background  for 


258  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

each  day.  To  add  to  the  general  dreariness, 
the  weather  settled  down  into  a  succession  of 
northeast  storms,  with  but  fleeting  glimpses 
of  sunshine  and  mountain  views.  Happily 
the  news  from  home  was  the  least  discourag- 
ing part  of  the  situation.  Marie  continued 
to  improve  slowly,  and  the  delirium  had  left 
her.  As  soon  as  she  was  a  little  stronger, 
Edward  was  going  to  take  her  to  the  seashore, 
where  the  doctor  hoped  that  a  few  weeks  of 
rest  would  completely  bring  back  her  strength. 
There  was  little  variety  in  Theodora's  daily 
routine,  for  as  her  rooms  were  in  the  cottage 
she  did  not  mix  much  with  the  other  guests, 
who  were  civil  and  polite,  but  who  interested 
her  no  more  in  her  present  frame  of  mind 
than  figures  in  a  pantomime. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  the  storms  were 
over  and  the  sun  came  radiantly  forth,  and 
Theodora  could  not  resist  the  contagion  of  the 
children's  exuberant  spirits  when  they  enticed 
her  into  the  grove  behind  the  house,  for  long 
mornings  or  afternoons,  where  her  keen  love 
of  beauty  could  not  but  find  pleasure  in  the 
fine  mountain  views,  with  their  shifting  lights 
and  shadows. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          259 

One  afternoon,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
third  week  of  her  absence  from  home,  she  was 
in  the  grove  with  the  children  as  usual.  She 
had  a  book  in  her  hand,  but  her  eyes  wan- 
dered to  that  distant  horizon  line,  misty  and 
undulating,  and  like  an  unsubstantial  vision 
of  some  brighter  world.  She  was  happy  with- 
out knowing  why.  It  was  as  if  a  hand  had 
suddenly  pulled  up  the  black  curtain  that  had 
been  stretched  between  her  and  the  future. 
She  had  a  sensation  of  physical  pleasure  that 
was  almost  intoxicating  in  contrast  to  her 
former  depression. 

She  heard  the  sound  of  approaching  foot- 
steps, and  looked  up,  expecting  to  see  one  of 
the  guests  from  the  hotel. 

"  Here  you  are,"  said  a  familiar  voice.  "  I 
was  sure  I  could  find  you." 

"  Mr.  Compton !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
rose  hastily ;  "  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  so  glad 
to  see  any  one  before.  How  do  you  happen 
to  be  in  this  part  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  came  because  I  could  n't  help  it.  Are 
you  really  glad  to  see  me?"  he  asked  eagerly, 
as  he  took  her  outstretched  hand.  Something 
in  his  imploring  glance  caused  her  to  drop  her 
eyes. 


260  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  see  any  friend 
of  Edward's,"  she  replied  stiffly.  "  Have  you 
ever  seen  anything  so  lovely  as  that  view  ? " 
she  added  nervously,  as  she  pointed  to  the 
distant  mountains. 

"  It  is  beautiful.  Miss  Davidson,  will  you 
mind  if  I  stay  here  for  a  few  days  ?  I  am  at 
Thayer's,  in  the  village.  Of  course  I  can 
leave  Littleton,  if  you  insist  upon  it;  but  I 
have  never  seen  such  a  heavenly  place,  and 
I  do  want  to  see  the  children.  I  might  be 
of  use,"  he  added  plaintively,  "  for  I  can  tell 
better  stories  than  you  can,  you  remember, 
being  a  minister.  Besides,  I  shall  not  have 
any  chance  to  get  too  absorbed  by  the  details 
of  my  profession.  You  can  take  me  in  hand 
and  quite  make  me  over.  May  I  stay  ?  " 

She  could  not  help  smiling.  "I  shall  be 
only  too  glad  to  have  you  stay,  if  "  — 

"  If  I  am  here  merely  as  a  kind  of  nursery 
governess  for  the  children,  —  an  adjunct  to 
Elizabeth,  in  short.  I  don't  care  in  what 
capacity  I  stay,  provided  you  don't  turn  me 
out." 

He  stood  watching  her  changing  expression, 
as  if  he  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her  face. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          261 

"  You  look  well,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  you  have 
grown  brown  and  sunburned." 

"  How  are  Marie  and  Edward  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Or  have  you  been  away  from  Edgecomb 
all  the  time?" 

"  I  have  been  away,  but  I  stopped  there 
last  night  to  get  the  latest  news  for  you." 

"  That  was  very  good  of  you." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  was  merely  very  selfish. 
I  knew  that  I  was  sure  of  a  welcome,  if  I 
brought  news  from  them.  Marie  is  really 
quite  herself  again ;  and  Edward  is  as  de- 
lightful and  as  amusing  as  ever.  He  has  had 
a  hard  time,  poor  fellow,  but  no  one  would 
ever  imagine  it." 

Mr.  Compton  took  tea  with  Theodora  and 
the  children  that  night,  and  while  she  went 
down  to  the  cottage  with  them  afterwards,  he 
stayed  on  the  hotel  piazza  chatting  with  the 
guests,  and  discovering  more  about  them  in 
the  hour  and  a  half  which  followed  than  she 
had  done  in  three  weeks.  She  told  him  that 
she  would  be  free  again  at  eight  o'clock,  and 
precisely  at  that  hour  he  joined  her  on  the 
cottage  piazza. 

"  What   a  glorious   night   it   is,"  he  said. 


262          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  One  does  not  know  what  moonlight  means 
until  one  sees  it  in  the  mountains.  Would 
you  mind  walking  up  the  road  a  little  way  ? 
We  could  get  so  much  more  of  a  view  higher 
up." 

"  I  should  like  it." 

They  crossed  a  bridge  which  spanned  a  tiny 
stream,  and  went  on  past  a  house  that  was 
buried  in  flowers,  and  then  higher,  and  still 
higher,  until  they  reached  the  summit  of  the 
hill.  At  their  feet  was  a  silvery,  misty  world, 
for  the  lower  hills  were  hidden  by  a  filmy, 
shimmering  covering  of  mist,  which  looked 
like  an  immense  lake  of  some  substance  more 
ethereal  than  water ;  while  above  and  beyond 
it  were  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  Franconia 
mountains,  and  in  the  distance  the  dreamlike, 
undulating  lines  of  the  Presidential  range. 
On  the  other  side,  to  complete  the  marvelous 
view,  were  the  faint  outlines  of  the  far-away 
mountains  in  Vermont.  Heretofore,  at  the 
glare  of  high  noon,  Theodora  had  thought 
this  hill  a  prosaic  spot ;  but  now,  in  the  moon- 
light, and  with  a  companion  by  her  side  who 
was  keenly  alive  to  beauty,  it  seemed  enchant- 
ingly  poetic. 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          263 

It  was  not  until  they  had  descended  the 
hill,  and  she  turned  to  take  leave  of  Mr. 
Compton  at  the  door  of  her  cottage,  that  he 
uttered  one  word  betokening  anything  more 
than  friendly  interest. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said.  "  It  is  such  a 
pleasure  to  have  you  here." 

"  Theodora,"  he  returned,  "  I  have  promised 
to  stay  on  your  terms,  and  so  I  won't  venture 
to  say  half  how  much  I  love  you ;  but  the 
whole  world  has  seemed  full  of  you  since  you 
went  away,  and  I  have  felt  as  if  nothing  was 
any  good  that  was  n't  somehow  connected  with 
you." 

"  Oh,  please  don't." 

"  No,  I  won't ;  but  I  must  just  beg  you  not 
to  decide  this  thing  too  quickly.  If  you  don't 
feel  sure  that  you  would  be  happy  with  me, 
don't  feel  too  sure  that  you  would  be  unhappy. 
Might  n't  you  be  happier  than  to  go  away  as 
you  mean  to  do  ?  Theodora,  I  need  you  so 
much.  Don't  answer  me  until  we  are  in  Edge- 
comb  again.  To-morrow  it  will  be  exactly  as 
if  I  had  not  said  this  to-night ; "  and  before 
she  could  recover  from  her  surprise,  he  had 
gone  out  of  the  gate  and  was  walking  rapidly 
down  the  road. 


264          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

She  sat  for  a  long  time  in  front  of  her 
window,  letting  her  eyes  absently  rest  on  the 
silver  flood  of  moonlight  in  the  valley  and  on 
the  distant  mountain  peaks. 

She  was  loved,  really  loved  !  In  110  period 
of  her  life  could  this  fact  have  given  her  such 
keen  and  exquisite  pleasure,  such  a  thrill  of 
surprise,  and  such  humble  gratitude,  for  of 
late  she  had  been  thinking  of  herself  as  a 
woman  who  was  destined  to  go  through  life 
without  the  power  to  touch  the  heart.  It  al- 
most seemed  as  if  she  could  not  help  giving 
her  heart  in  return.  Could  she  not  love  him 
enough  to  make  him  happy  ?  But  no  ;  for 
although  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  be  with  him, 
her  pulse-beats  did  not  quicken  when  he  was 
near,  and  she  had  none  of  that  unreasoning 
admiration  of  him  which  she  had  always 
thought  she  should  feel  for  a  lover.  She  had 
sometimes  fancied  herself  in  love  with  some 
man  physically  and  intellectually  her  supe- 
rior, who  would  sway  her,  rule  her,  perchance 
even  break  her  spirit.  She  felt  that  she  had 
it  in  her  to  be  the  wife  of  a  statesman,  and  to 
help  him  guide  the  affairs  of  state ;  or  of  a 
justice  on  the  bench,  or  a  general,  or  an  Eng- 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          265 

lish  peer.  It  was  not  mere  worldly  ambition, 
however,  that  attracted  her,  for  she  would 
have  cheerfully  married  a  ranchman,  and 
buried  herself  from  the  world  for  life,  or  a 
philanthropist  who  had  chosen  to  live  in  the 
worst  slums  of  a  city,  provided  that  he  were 
a  king  among  men.  And  the  only  man  who 
had  ever  fallen  in  love  with  her  was  a  coun- 
try minister,  without  ambition,  —  a  lovable, 
sweet-tempered  fellow,  who  was  neither  intel- 
lectual nor  especially  interesting.  If  she  mar- 
ried him,  her  way  would  always  lie  in  quiet, 
home-keeping  paths ;  for  she  had  learned  this 
much  from  her  late  experience,  that,  if  she  be- 
came his  wife,  she  must  help  him  to  be  happy 
in  his  way  and  not  in  hers.  And  yet  to  be 
loved  was  so  great  a  thing !  But  even  here 
she  was  not  satisfied,  for  his  affection  was  not 
the  passionate  devotion  she  craved.  It  was  a 
compound  of  pity  for  her  and  need  of  her. 
She  felt  that  the  time  had  come  when  he  could 
love  again,  and  that  she  was  the  woman  who 
had  chanced  to  come  in  his  way.  Alas !  she 
did  not  love  him,  and  to-morrow  she  must  tell 
him  so  and  send  him  away. 

The  next  morning,  as  she  was  leaving  the 


266          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

breakfast-table,  a  lady  stopped  her  and  said : 
"  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  like  your 
brother." 

"  Where  have  you  seen  him  ?  "  she  asked 
with  her  face  all  aglow. 

"  Last  night,  when  you  were  at  the  cot- 
tage." 

"  Oh,  that  is  n't  my  brother  ;  that  is  Mr. 
Compton,  his  most  intimate  friend,  who  came 
to  bring  me  the  latest  news  from  home." 

So  it  seemed,  Theodora  thought,  with  a  little 
pang,  she  was  the  kind  of  woman  that  no  one 
would  dream  could  have  a  lover  ! 

Later  in  the  morning  Frank  Compton  ap- 
peared, and  proposed  that  Miss  Davidson 
should  climb  Parker  Mountain  with  him.  The 
children  were  eager  to  go  too,  and  were  with 
difficulty  persuaded  that  it  would  be  too  hard 
an  expedition  for  them. 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  last  night  that  I 
ought  to  tell  you  it  will  do  no  good  for  you  to 
stay,"  Theodora  said  resolutely. 

"  At  least  it  won't  do  any  harm,  since  you 
have  forewarned  me,"  he  returned  cheerfully. 

She  wished  she  knew  just  how  much  he 
cared  for  her  and  why,  but  reticence  and  her 


THE  COMING   OF   THEODOEA.        267 

nice   sense  of  honor  forbade  her  taking   any 
steps  to  discover. 

Their  way  led  at  first  through  the  valley, 
where  the  scorching  sun  fell  full  upon  them, 
but  after  a  time  it  began  to  ascend  the  moun- 
tain, under  the  grateful  shade  of  a  forest  of 
pines  and  hemlocks.  Far  above  them  were  a 
tiny  white  house  and  a  tower  that  marked  the 
end  of  their  expedition.  The  sky  was  blue 
and  cloudless,  and  the  air  was  laden  with  a 
fragrance  of  the  woods.  It  was  one  of  those 
days  when  to  be  alive  is  so  keen  a  pleasure 
that  it  makes  up  for  months  of  more  conven- 
tional living.  Theodora  had  a  light-hearted, 
happy  feeling,  such  as  she  had  not  known  for 
weeks.  The  certainty  that  this  man  loved  her 
gave  an  added  touch  of  beauty  to  the  world. 
It  was  true  that  she  did  not  love  him,  and 
perhaps  a  stern  moralist,  such  as  she  herself 
had  once  been,  would  say  that  she  should 
have  insisted  upon  his  going  away  at  once  ; 
but  she  was  no  longer  capable  of  being  a  stern 
moralist,  she  was  too  hungry  and  thirsty  for 
happiness.  What  harm  would  a  few  days  of 
happiness  do  either  of  them?  After  that  he 
would  go  back  to  Edgecomb,  and  she  ?  Some- 


268          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

where  in  the  world  there  would  be  work  for 
her. 

"I  should  like  to  stay  out-of-doors  every 
moment  of  my  time  from  May  until  Novem- 
ber," she  exclaimed  presently. 

"  So  should  I.  I  wish  you  could  have  gone 
to  the  Kangeley  Lakes.  How  you  would 
enjoy  it !  I  should  like  to  spend  a  whole 
summer  there  with  you." 

"  That  would  be  delightful,"  she  said,  with- 
out thinking  of  the  interpretation  that  could 
be  put  upon  her  words  until  she  saw  his  tell- 
tale face. 

"Oh,  why  weren't  you  my  brother?"  she 
broke  out. 

"  I  should  n't  like  you  at  all  for  a  sister." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  I  have  failed  lamentably 
as  a  sister,  but  I  should  fail  still  worse  as  a 
wife." 

"  Perhaps  you  would." 

She  felt  chilled,  and  looked  at  Frank  with 
a  slight  contraction  of  the  eyebrows. 

"  If  I  knew  of  any  fellow  who  wanted  to 
marry  you,  I  should  warn  him  that  he  was  by 
no  means  sure  of  being  happy  with  you." 

"  You  would  do  well.  I  should  give  him  the 
same  warning." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          269 

"But  I  should  add  that  the  discipline  he 
would  get  would  be  excellent  for  his  character. 
Don't  you  think  discipline  is  a  very  important 
thing,  Miss  Davidson  ?  " 

"  Very,"  she  assented,  with  a  gay  laugh. 
What  nonsense  we  are  talking ! "  she  added 
presently. 

"  '  You  began  it,'  as  the  children  say." 

"  Here  is  the  finest  view  of  all,"  she  said, 
a  few  minutes  later,  as  she  stopped  before  a 
gap  in  the  woods  and  seated  herself  on  one  of 
the  rude,  unpainted  benches  that  had  been 
thoughtfully  placed  at  intervals  along  their 
way.  The  forest  made  a  frame  of  green 
around  the  opening,  which  showed  Lafayette 
alone  in  its  majesty  and  perfect  symmetry : 
the  other  mountains  were  hidden  from  view 
behind  the  trees.  Theodora  made  room  for 
Frank  on  the  bench,  and  they  looked  at  the 
matchless  picture  for  some  moments  in  silence. 

"  Do  you  know  you  make  me  think  of 
Lafayette  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Why  ?  Because  we  are  both  '  hard  and 
cold '  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  both  so  entirely  self-suffi- 
cient and  so  superior,"  he  ventured. 


270  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  Those  are  very  disagreeable  points  of  re- 
semblance." 

"  You  won't  allow  me  to  say  anything  agree- 
able." 

Theodora  had  a  sense  of  exhilaration  of 
which  she  was  thoroughly  ashamed,  for  she 
had  always  had  a  contempt  for  women  who 
took  pleasure  in  the  admiration  of  men.  A 
bright  color  glowed  in  her  cheeks,  and  there 
was  a  new  softness  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  should  like  you  and  Lafay- 
ette just  as  well  if  you  were  not  beautiful?" 
he  said  presently. 

" I,  beautiful?  Indeed,  I  am  not  beautiful ; 
no  one  has  ever  thought  so  before.  And  you 
must  not  say  such  things  ;  they  are  not  '  in  the 
bond,'  and  they  are  very  upsetting  to  my  mind." 
.  "  If  that  is  the  effect  they  have,  I  shall  con- 
tinue to  say  them ;  if  it  gives  you  any  pleasure 
to  know  that  I  think  you  beautiful  " 

"  It  does  n't.  I  mean  it  ought  n't  to  give 
me  pleasure.  It  was  very  wrong  of  me  to  let 
you  stay  here,  and  I  shall  send  you  home 
to-morrow." 

"To-morrow  I  have  promised  to  take  the 
children  on  a  picnic,  and  we  shan't  invite 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.         271 

you.  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  am  here 
chiefly  to  amuse  them  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  it." 

Later  in  the  ascent,  when  it  seemed  as  if 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  must  be  close 
at  hand,  an  old,  weather-beaten,  gray-bearded 
workingman  suddenly  started  out  of  the 
ground,  as  it  seemed,  and  warned  them  back. 

"  Don't  come  any  nearer,"  he  said  ;  "  there 
is  going  to  be  a  blast." 

"  Are  we  safe  where  we  are  ?  "  Frank  asked. 

"Yes;  I  have  never  known  the  stones  to 
come  so  far." 

They  stood  chatting  with  the  old  man  for  a 
few  minutes.  At  last,  as  they  were  beginning 
to  grow  impatient,  there  was  a  loud  explo- 
sion. Frank  seized  Theodora  and  drew  her  to 
one  side,  and  a  great  piece  of  stone  whizzed 
by  them  and  fell  close  to  the  spot  where  she 
had  stood.  All  three  of  them  were  breathless 
and  awestruck  for  a  moment. 

"  I  never  knew  it  to  come  so  far,"  the  man 
ejaculated  at  last. 

"  It  might  have  killed  me !  "  said  Theodora 
under  her  breath. 

She  was  suddenly  confronted  by  the  serious- 


272          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ness,  nay  the  awfulness  of  existence,  and  its 
mystery.  Had  she  been  a  few  steps  farther 
to  the  left,  her  life  would  have  been  quenched 
like  the  flame  of  a  candle  in  the  wind.  Si- 
lently she  followed  their  guide  up  the  steep, 
short  cut  that  led  to  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  silently  she  climbed  the  staircase  of  the 
observatory,  and  found  herself  in  the  treetops, 
like  a  bird  in  its  nest ;  and  silently  she  let  her 
eyes  wander  over  those  mysterious  ranges  of 
mountains,  one  behind  the  other,  which  grew 
dimmer  and  vaguer  until  they  melted  into  the 
horizon  line.  What  a  world  of  beauty  it  was ! 
a  world  where  it  was  so  good  to  be,  that  the 
thought  of  going  to  any  other,  unknown  world 
gave  her  a  keen  pang.  For  what  purpose  was 
she  here?  she  asked  herself.  And  what  was 
the  best  use  that  she  could  make  of  her  life  ? 

Frank  respected  her  silence,  and  hardly 
said  a  word  to  her  all  the  way  home  ;  and  it 
was  not  until  he  was  bidding  her  good-by, 
some  days  later,  that  he  ventured  to  speak  on 
the  subject  that  was  nearest  his  heart. 

"  You  have  been  very  good  to  me,"  Theo- 
dora said,  as  they  parted,  "  and  I  shall  never 
fonret  it." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          273 

"  Whatever  you  may  decide,  remember  how 
much  I  love  you." 

"  I  don't  see  why.  I  don't  think  I  am  the 
sort  of  woman  to  be  loved,  or  to  make  any 
one  happy." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  why.  Or  perhaps  I  could 
in  part ;  I  will  some  time,  if  you  care  to  listen." 

"  I  am  abjectly  ashamed  of  myself,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  I  ought  to  have  given  you  a 
positive  answer.  I  thought  I  had,  but  the 
more  I  see  of  you  the  harder  it  is  for  me  to 
let  you  go ;  and  yet  I  am  sure  that  I  don't  love 
you  —  enough.  Will  you  have  patience  with 
me  a  little  longer  ?  " 

"I  will  have  all  the  patience  in  the  world. 
I  understand  what  you  are  feeling  as  well 
as  if  I  could  see  into  your  mind.  If  I  were 
different,  you  would  decide  quickly." 

It  was  true,  and  it  touched  her  to  think 
that  he  was  so  keenly  in  sympathy  with  her  as 
to  take  her  part  even  against  himself. 

"  I  never  knew  any  one  so  good  as  you  are, 
or  so  unselfish,"  she  said  warmly. 

"  I  am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other." 

She  did  not  in  the  least  realize  the  strain  to 
which  she  was  submitting  him  by  her  indeci- 


274  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

sion.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  impossible 
for  her  to  understand  a  temperament  as  emo- 
tional as  his,  had  he  given  free  play  to  his 
feelings,  but  he  had  succeeded  in  controlling 
himself  so  well  for  her  sake  that  she  fre- 
quently doubted  whether  he  was  deeply  in 
love  with  her. 

Although  she  did  not  love  him,  it  was  aston- 
ishing how  blank  the  world  seemed  to  her  after 
he  had  gone,  and  how  eagerly  she  waited  for 
a  possible  letter. 

He  did  not  write  to  her,  and  when  she  first 
reached  Edgecomb  he  was  still  away  on  his 
vacation. 

The  fact  that  she  had  not  heard  a  word 
from  him  since  he  bade  her  good-by  made 
the  whole  episode  at  Littleton  seem  unreal. 
Should  she  try  to  make  him  happy  ?  she  asked 
herself  over  and  over  again.  She  was  hon- 
estly distrustful  of  her  own  powers.  She 
dreaded  the  care  of  Essie,  and  the  idea  of  the 
parish  filled  her  with  terror  ;  but  on  the  other 
hand,  she  longed  to  make  him  happy,  and  she 
had  a  craving  to  be  loved.  What  should  she 
do  ?  What  was  right,  and  what  was  wrong  ? 


XX. 

IT  was  a  crisp  September  day  when  Theo- 
dora reached  Edgecomb.  It  was  not  without 
a  certain  amount  of  nervousness  that  she  pre- 
pared to  meet  Marie.  They  could  never  have 
any  comfort  in  each  other  again,  and  she 
herself  was  too  sincere  to  affect  a  love  which 
she  did  not  feel.  Edward  was  unfeignedly 
glad  to  see  her ;  and  Marie,  who  looked  so  ill 
that  Theodora's  heart  softened  towards  her, 
thanked  her  most  warmly  for  her  care  of  the 
children. 

"  They  were  very  good,"  Theodora  said ; 
"  they  did  n't  give  me  any  trouble." 

Marie  colored  at  the  recollection  that  these 
words  called  up.  She  rose  hastily,  and,  coming 
over  to  Theodora,  threw  her  arms  impulsively 
around  her  neck.  "  Dear,  dear  Theodora," 
she  cried,  "  I  was  very  wicked  and  cruel.  Will 
you  forgive  me  for  saying  all  those  dreadful 
things?  I  was  half  out  of  my  mind,  for  my 
head  was  troubling  me  so." 


276          THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

"  Indeed  I  will  forgive  you,"  Theodora 
answered  warmly,  "  but  it  is  I  who  ought  to 
ask  to  be  forgiven  for  having  unconsciously 
caused  you  so  much  pain." 

And  yet  both  of  these  women  knew,  even 
as  they  spoke,  that  nothing  could  ever  be  the 
same  between  them  again. 

"  We  want  you  to  stay  here  all  winter,"  Ed- 
ward said  eagerly.  "  Marie  and  I  have  been 
talking  it  over,  and  she  is  as  anxious  to  have 
you  with  us  as  I  am." 

Theodora  saw  Marie's  forehead  contract, 
and  she  knew,  as  well  as  if  she  had  spoken, 
what  was  in  her  mind. 

"  It  cannot  be,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  think- 
ing of  joining  Rhoda  Emerson  in  starting  a 
college  settlement.  She  has  St.  Louis  or  Cin- 
cinnati in  her  mind." 

"  At  any  rate  you  must  stay  with  us  as  long 
as  you  like,"  said  Marie,  and  Theodora  knew 
that  all  was  over.  She  thought  she  had  tasted 
the  full  bitterness  of  this  knowledge  before, 
but  as  she  wandered  around  the  dear,  familiar 
rooms,  where  henceforth  she  was  to  be  a 
stranger  and  an  alien,  she  felt  a  new  and  more 
poignant  sense  of  anguish  in  the  thought  that 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          277 

here,  where  she  so  passionately  longed  to  be, 
she  was  not  wanted.  She  would  go  away  into 
the  great  world,  leaving  her  heart  behind  her ; 
and  they  would  settle  comfortably  back  into 
their  slipshod  methods  of  living,  and  say,  when 
they  chanced  to  think  of  her,  "  Is  n't  it  good  to 
be  by  ourselves  again  ?  And  is  n't  it  lucky 
that  Theodora  has  found  her  mission  at  last 
in  looking  after  poor  people  by  the  wholesale, 
instead  of  directing  her  energies  against  one 
poor  family?" 

When  she  thought  of  Frank  Compton,  her 
heart  warmed ;  but  the  more  she  thought  of 
him,  the  surer  she  was  that  she  ought  not  to 
yield  to  his  entreaties.  She  felt  that  she  had 
been  looking  at  him  through  a  magnifying- 
glass  during  those  happy  days  at  Littleton,  for 
since  her  return  he  had  at  once  dwindled  to 
his  usual  proportions,  so  much  more  intense 
was  her  feeling  for  her  brother,  and  so  much 
keener  was  her  grief  at  the  prospect  of  the 
impending  parting  from  him.  When  she 
had  at  last  definitely  made  up  her  mind,  she 
felt  that  it  would  be  easier  to  write  her  de- 
termination to  Frank  than  to  see  him  face  to 
face :  — 


278  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

DEAR  MR.  COMPTON  [her  letter  ran], — 
I  cannot  blame  myself  sufficiently  for  let- 
ting you  stay  those  five  days  in  Littleton.  My 
only  excuse  is  that  I  was  so  unhappy,  and  that 
you  were  such  a  comfort  to  me,  which  is  no  ex- 
cuse at  all.  Now  that  I  am  at  home  again,  I 
seem  to  be  myself  once  more,  and  to  see  clearly. 
I  am  certain  that  I  could  never  make  you 
happy,  and  that  in  the  knowledge  of  my  failure 
I  should  be  unhappy  myself.  I  should  mean 
to  keep  in  the  background,  and  to  think  only 
of  your  wishes ;  but  to  save  my  soul  I  could 
not  help  interfering  in  a  hundred  ways,  with 
your  management  of  Essie  and  in  your  care  of 
the  parish,  and  you  would  be  miserable  in  the 
end.  I  am  glad  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
before  causing  you  any  lasting  pain.  I  expect 
to  go,  very  shortly,  to  help  a  friend  start  a 
college  settlement  in  the  West,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  I  shall  soon  be  absorbed  by  my 
new  work. 

I  must  add  that  it  has  been  a  very  great 
happiness  to  me  to  have  known  you,  and  to 
have  won  your  good  opinion. 

Faithfully  yours, 

THEODORA  DAVIDSON. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          279 

She  read  the  letter  over  and  felt  that  it  was 
too  cold,  but  she  did  not  know  how  to  improve 
it ;  then  she  sealed  it  and  sent  it  to  the  mail. 

Frank  Compton  answered  it  in  person.  He 
came  to  the  house  one  afternoon  when  Edward 
and  Marie  were  away.  It  was  a  warm  day, 
and  Theodora  had  taken  her  book  out  on 
the  side  porch,  where  she  sat  trying1  to  fancy 
herself  in  the  mountains  as  she  looked  across 
the  level  meadows  to  the  river.  He  had 
almost  reached  her  before  she  was  aware  of 
his  presence.  He  looked  so  cheerful  and  well 
satisfied  that  she  said,  "  You  did  not  get  my 
letter?" 

"  Yes,  I  did.  That  is  why  I  am  here.  It 
gave  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  that  letter." 

"  Pleasure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  it  told  me  that  you  did  care  for 
me  a  little.  If  you  had  n't  cared,  you  would 
have  written  very  differently." 

"  Mr.  Compton  !  " 

"  Miss  Davidson  !  " 

"Don't  try  to  change  my  determination. 
My  mind  is  made  up." 

"Theodora,  in  some  ways  you  are  delight- 
fully young,  in  spite  of  your  twenty-nine  years. 


280          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

Did  you  seriously  expect  me  to  take  your  letter 
as  final?  If  so,  you  have  a  very  limited  ac- 
quaintance with  human  nature.  I,  to  give  you 
up  for  any  such  paltry  reasons,  when  you  could 
love  me ! " 

"  I  never  said  I  could." 

The  next  hour  was  a  very  bewildering  one 
to  Theodora ;  before  she  knew  what  she  was 
admitting,  before  she  half  realized  what  she 
was  doing,  she  had  been  swept  off  her  bear- 
ings by  the  tide  of  his  eloquence,  and  she  had 
promised —  What  had  she  promised  ?  After 
he  left  her,  she  sat  in  the  fading  twilight 
trying  to  face  the  wonderful  fact  that  she  had 
promised  to  marry  him.  It  was  all  so  strange, 
so  unexpected,  and  so  overwhelming  that  she 
could  not  grasp  the  situation.  \Vhy4iad  she 
yielded  against  her  better  judgment?  Did 
she  love  him  ?  She  hardly  knew,  but  she  was 
sure  at  last,  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubts 
and  misgivings,  that  he  loved  her.  Was  she 
happy  ?  She  could  scarcely  tell,  but  deep  down 
in  her  heart  was  a  feeling  of  peace  and  content. 
She  sat  there  until  the  rosy  glow  had  left  the 
sky  and  the  world  was  only  a  dull  gray  once 
more,  and  she  was  still  sitting  there  when  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          281 

harvest  moon  rose  behind  the  gnarled  apple- 
trees.  She  absently  watched  a  slight,  childish 
figure  come  along  by  the  front  of  the  house 
and  turn  in  at  the  gate,  and  with  a  start  of 
surprise  she  recognized  Essie  Compton.  The- 
odora rose  to  greet  her  prospective  daughter. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Estelle,"  she 
said.  "  Has  your  father  told  you  "  — 

"  He  told  me  that  you  had  promised  to 
marry  him,  and  I  slipped  away,  before  he  knew 
it,  to  say  that  I  can't  bear  it ;  I  can't,  oh,  I 
can't !  " 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  Theodora  said  gently,  "  I 
am  sorry  that  you  do  not  like  it,  but  it  is  too 
late  now  for  me  to  decide  differently,  for  I 
have  given  your  father  my  promise." 

Essie's  face  grew  very  white.  "  Why  should 
papa  want  to  marry  anybody  ?  "  she  demanded 
fiercely.  "  He  used  to  say  that  my  mamma 
was  in  heaven,  but  that  she  was  just  as  inter- 
ested in  all  that  he  and  I  were  doing  as  if  she 
were  here  ;  and  when  Aunt  Charlotte  said  she 
hoped  he  would  marry  again,  he  said  he  never 
could.  I  can't  bear  it ;  I  can't!  I  can't !  "  and 
she  stamped  her  foot  and  clenched  her  hands. 
"  How  would  you  like  it,  if  you  were  a  little 


282  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

girl,  and  your  dear  papa  was  going  to  marry  a 
hateful  woman  ?  " 

The  present  world  was  for  a  moment  blotted 
out  of  Theodora's  consciousness,  and  she  was 
once  again  a  passionate  girl  of  sixteen,  trying 
to  prevent  her  father's  marriage.  The  tortures 
of  jealousy  that  she  had  suffered,  and  the 
lonely  years  in  which  she  had  grown  hard  and 
bitter  from  being  misunderstood,  were  vividly 
before  her.  Could  it  be  that  this  child  was 
feeling  what  she  had  felt  ?  Heaven  forbid  ! 

"  Come  and  sit  on  the  steps,"  she  said,  "  and 
we  will  talk  things  over.  You  and  I  both 
want  to  make  your  father  happy.  If  he  loves 
me,  it  will  make  him  happy  to  have  me  with 
him.  His  heart  is  large  enough  to  love  us 
both." 

"  He  can't  love  me  much  if  he  likes  you. 
He  said  he  thought  it  would  be  good  for  me 
to  have  you  take  care  of  me,  and  I  told  him  I 
should  die  if  you  did." 

"  What  did  he  say  then  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  loved  you,  and  that  you  had 
promised  to  be  his  wife,  and  that  I  must  be  a 
good  child  and  go  to  bed." 

"Estelle"  — 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.         283 

"  Don't  call  me  Estelle  !  "  she  flashed  out. 

"Why  not?" 

"  It  was  mamma's  name." 

*'  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  before  that 
you  did  not  like  me  to  call  you  Estelle?  " 

"  Because  I  was  afraid  of  you." 

"  Why  are  you  not  afraid  of  me  now  ?  " 

"  I  can't  stop  to  be  afraid  now.  It  is  like  a 
battlefield." 

"  Poor  child !  I  am  not  really  a  person  to 
be  afraid  of,  Essie.  If  you  knew  all  about 
me,  if  you  could  see  into  my  heart,  you  would 
not  be  afraid  of  me." 

The  child  flung  herself  down  on  the  door- 
step, and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  "  she  cried,  "I  wish  I 
were  dead !  " 

Theodora  tried  to  stroke  Essie's  forehead, 
but  the  little  girl  struck  her  outstretched  hand. 

"  Essie,  that  is  naughty !  you  must  try  to 
be  a  good  child  for  your  papa's  sake." 

"  Oh  dear,  oh  dear !  "  she  moaned.  "  Papa 
does  n't  care  about  me  any  more." 

Theodora  knew  so  well  what  Essie  was  suf- 
fering that  it  seemed  almost  as  if  it  were  her 
younger  self  that  was  before  her.  She  had  a 


284  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

swift  vision  of  her  own  future  life  shadowed  by 
the  knowledge  of  this  child's  unhappiness.  And 
yet,  might  it  not  be  possible  to  overcome  her 
dislike  iu  time?  She  was  such  a  young  child, 
only  eight  years  old  I  Alas  !  incompatibility 
of  temperament  takes  no  account  of  age,  and 
she  felt  certain  that  their  mutual  antagonism 
would  but  grow  more  intense  under  the  friction 
of  daily  life.  She  could  measure  the  child's 
capacity  for  jealousy  by  her  own,  and  she 
asked  herself  if  any  woman  had  the  right 
to  cause  such  pain.  When  she  was  a  girl  she 
felt  sure  she  had  not,  and  she  must  not  let 
her  judgment  be  clouded  by  her  present  feel- 
ings. For  more  than  half  an  hour  Essie 
stayed  with  her,  first  begging  her  piteously 
not  to  marry  her  papa,  and  then  crying  and 
moaning,  and  all  the  time  Theodora's  heart 
was  pierced  by  the  keen  knowledge  of  the 
child's  sufferings. 

"  I  can't  bear  this  any  longer,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  Essie,  it  is  getting  late,  and  your  papa 
will  be  worried  if  he  finds  that  you  are  not  at 
home.  Wait  a  minute ;  it  is  so  late  that  I 
must  get  Michael  to  go  home  with  you." 

"  And  you  think  perhaps  you  won't  marry 
papa?;'  the  child  asked. 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          285 

O  Essie,  Essie !  you  are  only  a  little 
child,  and  it  seems  as  if  your  first  grief  would 
break  your  heart.  Suppose  your  papa  married 
again,  and  you  were  very  unhappy,  and  there 
was  nobody  to  love  you  very  much  for  years 
and  years  and  years ;  and  then  suppose  a  man 
like  your  papa  told  you  that  he  loved  you,  and 
you  were  longing  to  be  loved,  woidd  it  be  easy 
for  you  to  give  him  up  ?  Think  of  me  as  well 
as  of  yourself.  Do  you  imagine  it  would  be 
an  easy  thing  for  me  to  give  up  your  papa  ?  " 

The  little  girl  could  not  follow  all  this, 
but  she  vaguely  felt  that  Miss  Davidson  was 
weakening  in  her  determination.  "  You  can't 
love  my  papa  very  much,"  she  observed,  "  for 
you  have  only  known  him  a  little  while,  and  I 
have  known  him  all  my  life.  I  am  sure  he 
would  be  very  unhappy  if  you  came  to  live  with 
us,  for  I  was  n't  happy  when  I  lived  with  you ; 
and  I  heard  Aunt  Marie  say  that  you  would 
make  any  man  wretched,  and  that  she  prayed 
Heaven  you  would  not  marry  papa,  for  he  was 
so  unselfish  that  you  would  ride  right  over 
him." 

Theodora's  face  darkened.  "  Did  Mrs.  Da- 
vidson tell  you  that? "  she  asked. 


286  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  No  ;  I  heard  her  say  so  to  Uncle  Ned  when 
they  did  n't  remember  that  I  was  in  the  next 
room." 

"  And  that  is  why  you  do  not  want  me  to 
marry  your  father?" 

"  Oh,  no.  It  is  because  I  hate  you  so !  " 
she  answered,  with  the  cold-blooded  truthful- 
ness of  childhood.  "Miss  Davidson,  won't 
you  please  marry  some  one  else  ?  If  you  were 
to  go  away,  I  think  papa  would  be  just  as  he 
used  to  be." 

"  Is  he  different  now  ?  " 

*'  Yes  ;  he  seems  to  be  thinking  about  some- 
thing else,  and  to  have  forgotten  mamma. 
Will  you  please  promise  not  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Essie,  I  will  promise  you  this  much.  I 
will  not  marry  your  father  now,  as  he  wants 
me  to  do.  I  will  take  six  months  to  think 
about  it,  and  perhaps,  if  you  feel  just  as 
strongly  as  you  do  now  at  the  end  of  that  time, 
—  perhaps  I  will  not  marry  him." 

After  the  child  had  gone,  Theodora  went 
up  to  her  own  room  and  closed  the  blinds  to 
shut  out  the  moonlight.  She  knew  that  she 
must  decide  now,  once  for  all,  and  that  there 
could  be  no  question  of  six  months.  If  she 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          287 

were  to  break  with  Francis  Compton,  it  must 
be  done  at  once ;  she  could  never  have  the 
strength  to  do  it  if  she  were  to  see  him  famil- 
iarly day  after  day.  Only  two  days  ago,  of 
her  own  free  will,  she  had  done  what  this  child 
entrea'ted  her  to  do,  she  had  refused  to  marry 
him,  for  many  reasons  that  had  seemed  to  her 
wise.  The  reasons  against  the  marriage  were 
far  more  urgent  than  she  had  supposed,  and 
yet  now  it  seemed  well-nigh  impossible  to  give 
him  up.  Why  ?  Simply  because  she  had  had 
one  hour  of  exquisite  happiness.  She  knew, 
now  that  it  was  too  late,  how  well  she  could 
have  loved  him.  For  a  moment  she  half 
tremulously  and  breathlessly  thought  of  what 
it  would  mean  to  have  her  daily  life  wrapped 
about  with  such  tenderness  as  his.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  wondered  if  to  be  the  wife  of  a  ser- 
vant among  men  would  not  be  a  happier  fate 
than  to  be  the  wife  of  a  king  among  them. 
All  her  old  standards  and  judgments  were 
swept  away  like  ice  melted  in  the  warm  sun- 
shine of  spring.  Then  she  resolutely  turned 
her  thoughts  another  way,  for  she  knew,  as 
well  as  if  she  had  already  given  Francis 
Compton  up,  that  the  deed  must  be  done; 


288  THE   COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

and,  with  her  characteristic  promptness  of 
action,  she  wrote  a  hasty  note  reversing  all 
that  she  had  said  in  the  afternoon. 

Marie  and  Edward  looked  at  her  furtively 
as  she  took  her  place  at  the  breakfast-table 
the  next  morning.  It  was  evident  that  they 
had  heard  something  from  Frank.  She  must 
undeceive  them  as  quickly  as  possible. 

After  their  somewhat  preoccupied  meal  was 
over,  Edward  opened  the  studio  door,  and, 
taking  Theodora  by  the  arm,  led  her  into  the 
room. 

"  Dear  old  Theo,"  he  said,  "  I  am  awfully 
glad.  Frank  has  told  me." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  glad  about,  Ed- 
ward," she  said  drearily.  "  Frank  should  not 
have  told  you  anything.  There  is  nothing  to 
tell,  except  that  I  am  going  to  start  a  college 
settlement  with  Rhoda  Emerson." 

"  But,  Theo  !  "  he  gasped,  "  Frank  said"- 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake ;  I  am  sure  I  could  not 
make  him  happy." 

"  My  dear  girl,  he  does  n't  seem  to  agree 
with  you  there.  Theo,  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  are  going  to  let  a  chance  like  this 
slip  ?  Do  you  think  it  is  a  bigger  future  to 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          289 

live  in  the  slums,  and  take  care  of  a  lot  of 
people  who  will  wish  you  in  Jericho,  than  to 
make  a  fellow  like  Frank  Compton  happy? 
You  ought  to  go  down  on  your  knees  and 
thank  the  Lord  for  your  good  fortune." 

"  If  I  were  to  marry  him  I  should  make  his 
child  miserable,  and  I  know  what  that  means 
so  well  that  I  should  be  miserable  myself." 

"  I  have  heard  of  marriages  being  prevented 
because  the  stern  parent  objected,"  Edward 
remarked  afterwards  to  his  wife,  "  but  I  have 
never  before  heard  of  one  that  was  given  up 
out  of  deference  to  the  stern  child.  Great 
Scott !  what  are  we  coming  to,  if  we  allow 
ourselves  to  be  governed  so  abjectly  by  young 
America  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  glad  it  has  been  broken  off," 
said  Marie,  "for  I  am  sure  she  would  have 
made  him  wretched." 

"  Well,  one  thing  is  certain :  she  will  make 
him  wretched  if  she  breaks  it  off;  but  she 
won't,  she  can't.  No  man  who  wanted  her 
would  be  fool  enough  to  let  her  go  when  he 
was  so  near  getting  her." 

It  chanced  that  Francis   Compton  was  of 


290  THE  COMING   OF  THEODOEA. 

Edward's  opinion,  and  at  an  early  hour  he 
appeared,  leading  his  little  girl  by  the  hand, 
and  demanding  to  see  Theodora  in  a  voice 
which  made  the  mocking  words  die  on  Ed- 
ward's tongue,  and  'sent  him  hastily  into  the 
garden  in  search  of  her.  Frank  and  Essie 
followed  him. 

Theodora  was  picking  the  few  hardy  flowers 
that  had  outlived  the  frost  of  an  earlier  period 
to  blossom  in  this  Indian  summer.  There  was 
a  bench  at  the  end  of  the  garden  that  over- 
looked the  tennis  court,  and  two  garden  chairs, 
into  one  of  which  Theodora  sank.  Frank 
seated  himself  on  the  bench,  and  Essie  nestled 
close  up  to  him,  taking  his  hand  between  her 
two. 

"Theodora,"  Frank  began  unsteadily,  "you 
can  hardly  expect  me  to  take  what  you  wrote 
seriously?" 

Theodora  looked  down  at  the  brilliant  sal- 
vias  and  geraniums  in  her  lap.  "  I  do,"  she 
said  simply.  "  You  could  not  have  supposed 
that  I  would  write  like  that  if  I  were  not  in 
earnest  ?  " 

"  You  wrote  like  that  once  before  when  you 
were  not  in  earnest." 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          291 

"  I  was  in  earnest  then,  and  it  was  weak 
of  me  to  allow  you  to  persuade  me  against 
my  better  judgment.  I  have  known  all  along 
that  what  you  want  never  ought  to  be,  except 
in  that  one  interval  of  temporary  insanity.  I 
should  probably  have  been  a  terrible  disap- 
pointment to  you,  even  if  there  were  no  ques- 
tion of  your  child,  yet  I  would  have  risked 
that ;  but,  with  her  dislike  to  contend  with,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  make  you  happy." 

"  I  have  brought  my  little  girl  here  this 
morning  on  purpose  that  she  may  tell  you  she 
is  sorry  she  was  so  unreasonable  last  night." 
He  looked  down  at  the  child  as  he  spoke. 
She  remained  obstinately  silent.  "  Essie,"  he 
said  gently,  "remember  what  you  promised 
me." 

"  Miss  Davidson,"  she  began  sullenly,  "  I 
will  try  to  be  a  good  girl." 

"  Look  at  her  eyes.  She  may  say  one  thing 
with  her  lips,  because  she  loves  you  so  much 
that  she  will  promise  anything  you  ask,  but 
her  eyes  cannot  tell  a  falsehood.  She  cannot 
help  hating  me,  and  violently  objecting  to  this 
marriage.  You  once  told  me  that  I  ought  to 
be  more  sympathetic,"  she  added  in  a  lower 


292          THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA. 

tone.  "  How  can  I,  when  I  think  of  my  own 
miserable  girlhood,  help  having  the  most  in- 
tense sympathy  with  this  poor  little  crea- 
ture?" 

"  Run  away,  Essie,"  her  father  said ;  "  you 
can  go  into  the  house  and  play  with  the  chil- 
dren." 

"  Theodora,  you  are  exasperatingly  conscien- 
tious ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  Essie  had 
departed.  "  You  talk  of  sympathy,  but  you 
have  no  power  of  sympathizing  unless  you  have 
been  in  a  similar  position.  Put  yourself  in 
my  place,"  he  continued  vehemently.  "  Fancy 
having  passed  years  of  hopelessness,  and  then 
discovering  that  there  was  possible  happiness 
for  you,  and  then  imagine  being  tortured  with 
suspense  for  weeks,  and  at  last  —  fancy  your- 
self at  last  made  so  happy  that  you  hardly 
dared  to  think  of  what  life  might  be,  and  then 
—  imagine  being  told  that  it  was  all  at  an 
end,  simply  for  a  morbid  scruple.  How  would 
you  feel,  if  you  were  a  man  who  was  hungry 
for  love  and  happiness  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Theodora  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Theodora,   do  you   suppose   I  am  going 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          293 

calmly  to  give  you  up  now  that  I  find  you 
could  love  me  ?  "  he  asked  impetuously. 

"  Yes,  for  we  have  no  right  to  be  happy  at 
your  child's  expense.  She  is  a  part  of  your 
past,  before  you  knew  me,  and  she  has  her 
claim  before  me." 

"  Theodora,  you  will  drive  me  mad  by  your 
talk  of  duty.  Is  it  right  to  promise  to  marry 
a  man,  and  then  take  back  your  promise  for 
no  fault  of  his  ?  Is  it  right  to  spoil  the  lives 
of  two  people  for  the  sake  of  an  unreasonable 
child  ?  You  do  not  love  me  as  I  love  you,  or 
you  could  not  do  it." 

Theodora  turned  pale.  She  looked  down 
once  more  at  the  scarlet  flowers  in  her  lap. 
At  last  she  raised  her  eyes.  "  I  suppose  I  do 
not  love  you  as  well  as  you  love  me,"  she  said 
unsteadily,  "  for  then  I  could  not  see  so  clearly. 
But  I  love  you  enough  to  make  this  very  hard ; 
yet  it  is  right,  I  am  sure  it  is  right,  and  when 
I  know  a  thing  is  right  I  never  change." 

"  You  are  always  so  dead  sure  that  you  are 
right,"  he  cried  despairingly.  "  Can't  you  see 
that  there  is  another  side  to  this  question? 
I  am  just  as  certain  that  I  am  right." 

He  poured  out  his  love  for  her  in  incoher- 


294  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

ent  sentences,  and  she  listened  to  his  eager 
pleadings  with  outward  calm,  while  her  mind 
was  in  a  tumult  of  conflicting  emotions.  She 
had  never  been  so  stirred  and  melted  before. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed  at  last,  "  why  did  you 
ever  love  me  ?  I  feel  as  if  I  were  to  blame." 

"  You  need  n't  feel  that,  dear.  Whatever 
happens,  you  need  n't  feel  that.  It  was  all  so 
gradual  and  inevitable.  I  did  not  realize  it 
for  a  long  time,  and  all  at  once  —  Do  you 
remember  that  afternoon  when  I  met  you  as 
you  were  going  home,  and  you  told  me  about 
Marie  ?  " 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"  And  I  told  you  that,  if  I  allowed  a  per- 
sonal bias  to  govern  me,  I  should  decide  in 
favor  of  you  ?  Do  you  remember  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  When  I  said  that,  you  looked  at  me,  and 
the  whole  world  changed !  It  was  as  if  I  had 
never  seen  your  real  self  before.  You  had 
looked  at  me  before  as  if  I  were  a  chance  ac- 
quaintance, but  you  looked  at  me  then  as  if 
you  really  cared  for  me  a  little,  and  you  were 
so  beautiful !  " 

Meanwhile  a  small  figure  in  red  was  coming 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          295 

nearer  and  nearer,  for  Essie  was  growing  im- 
patient at  the  long  delay,  but  they  were  both 
too  absorbed  to  hear  her  approach. 

Theodora  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"  I  wish  I  had  not  looked  at  you  like  that. 
I  did  not  know  it.  You  must  forgive  me  if  I 
have  ever  tried  to  make  you  like  me.  I  did 
not  suppose  then  that  you  could  love  again." 

"  I  know  it,  dear.  I  did  not  suppose  so 
either." 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  and  then  a  shrill 
voice  asked,  "  Do  you  love  her  as  well  as  you 
loved  mamma  ?  " 

Theodora  and  Frank  both  started.  They 
turned,  and  saw  the  child  standing  behind 
them  with  flashing  eyes.  Frank  looked  away 
from  his  daughter  towards  Theodora.  "  Yes," 
he  said  with  emotion,  "  I  love  her  quite  as 
much,  but  in  a  different  way.  I  loved  Estelle 
with  a  boy's  first  passion,  and  I  love  you, 
Theodora,  with  a  man's  whole  strength." 

The  color  rushed  into  Essie's  face.  "  You 
ought  not  to  love  her  as  well  as  you  loved 
mamma !  "  she  cried  passionately.  "  I  wish 
mamma  were  here  now,  and  then  you  could  n't 
marry  Miss  Davidson !  " 


296  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  Essie,  you  need  n't  feel  troubled,  I  am  not 
going  to  marry  your  father." 

"Theodora"  — 

"  Please  don't  say  anything  more,"  she  en- 
treated, "  I  cannot  bear  it.  I  know  that  your 
judgment  is  blinded  by  your  feeling  for  me, 
and  so  I  have  to  decide  for  both  of  us,  for 
your  fate  and  that  of  your  child  are  in  the 
balance.  Do  you  suppose  that  we  could 
either  of  us  be  happy  with  the  knowledge 
that  we  had  made  a  little  girl  miserable  ?  " 

"Theodora,  you  take  it  all  as  so  final. 
Essie  would  love  you,  she  could  not  help  lov- 
ing you,  when  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
this  marriage." 

"Look  at  her,  now,  and  see  if  you  think 
it  probable.  If  people  once  dislike  me,  it  is 
final.  And  how  could  I  love  her  ?  We  are 
antagonistic  at  every  point.  I  know  from 
experience  that  it  is  hell  on  earth  to  live  in 
the  house  with  some  one  who  dislikes  you,  if 
you  are  conscious  of  that  dislike,  and  I  would 
rather  earn  my  bread  by  sweeping  the  streets. 
Think  of  all  the  long,  wearing  days  that  a 
woman  and  a  child  who  are  uncongenial  have 
to  live  through  together  at  home,  while  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          297 

man  they  love  goes  out  into  the  world.  You 
are  too  sensitively  strung  to  be  oblivious  to 
the  daily  friction  there  would  be,  and  it  would 
make  you  wretched  to  feel  that  we  were  both 
unhappy." 

"  Theodora  "  - 

"Nothing  you  say  will  make  any  difference," 
she  said  firmly ;  "  I  shall  not  change." 

"  But  the  conditions  may  change.  Essie 
may  grow  to  feel  differently." 

"  Can't  you  see  that  all  the  willingness  in 
the  world  on  Essie's  side  and  mine  to  make 
the  best  of  things  cannot  really  alter  the  con- 
ditions? We  cannot  change  our  natures." 
She  was  silent  a  moment ;  then  she  raised  her 
eyes  and  looked  at  him  steadily.  "  If  I  ever 
succeed  in  making  anything  of  my  life,"  she 
said  tremulously,  "  it  will  be  because  I  have 
known  you.  When  you  came  to  me  in  the 
mountains,  I  had  lost  all  faith  in  myself.  I 
can  never  tell  you  how  much  good  you  have 
done  me.  I  shall  be  better  and  happier  all 
my  life  for  having  known  you.  And  now 
good-by  !  Don't  say  another  word,"  she  added 
imperiously ;  "  that  is  the  only  thing  you  can 
do  for  me." 


298  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  Theodora,  you  have  me  completely  in  your 
power.  I  cannot  force  you  to  marry  me,  but 
there  is  one  thing  that  I  will  say,  and  that  is 
that  I  shall  never  give  you  up.  You  cannot 
prevent  my  thinking  of  you,  and  living  for 
you,  and  planning  for  a  time  when  you  will 
feel  differently.  You  have  a  very  strong  will, 
but  with  all  your  strength  you  cannot  prevent 
that." 


XXI. 

THEODORA  went  to  the  West  and  joined 
her  friend  in  starting  a  college  settlement. 
She  threw  herself  into  her  work  with  all  her 
old  enthusiasm  and  energy,  and  with  greater 
powers  of  sympathy  than  she  had  ever  carried 
into  her  teaching,  and  a  distrust  of  her  abso- 
lute infallibility  that  sometimes  saved  her 
from  making  mistakes ;  yet  she  could  not 
change  her  nature,  and  so,  through  lack  of 
comprehension,  she  did  some  harm,  but  she 
did  more  good.  Edward,  by  means  of  dictat- 
ing to  Frank,  became  her  constant  correspond- 
ent; but  save  for  these  weekly  letters,  her 
connection  with  the  past  was  wholly  severed. 

Marie  and  Edward  were  more  content  in 
their  freedom  regained  than  they  had  been 
when  Theodora  was  with  them,  but  something 
of  the  fine  aroma  of  their  happiness  had  de- 
parted. Edward  missed  the  devotion  of  his  sis- 
ter, and  he  sometimes  felt  the  want  of  her  prac- 
tical supervision  of  the  household,  although 


J 


300  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

he  scarcely  owned  this  fact  even  to  himself. 
Marie  did  not  miss  her,  but  her  conscience 
was  not  quite  at  ease,  and,  now  that  Theodora 
was  at  a  distance,  she  could  do  justice  to  the 
strength  and  nobility  of  her  character,  and 
overlook  the  faults  that  made  her  so  irritating 
in  every-day  life.  There  finally  came  a  time 
when  she  hoped  that  her  sister-in-law  would 
return  and  take  up  her  abode  in  the  parsonage, 
and  indeed  Theodora  at  the  other  end  of  the 
village  would  be  quite  a  different  thing  from 
Theodora  under  one's  own  roof. 

The  terra-cotta  wall-paper  on  the  studio  is 
still  a  dream,  for  there  never  seems  to  be  a  con- 
venient moment  for  making  the  change.  Marie 
is  too  busy  with  her  painting  and  her  house- 
hold cares  to  accomplish  it,  and  Edward  —  is 
Edward.  The  studio,  however,  has  returned 
to  its  normal  state  of  picturesque  disorder, 
and  its  owners  are,  if  possible,  a  more  charm- 
ing and  genial  host  and  hostess  than  they  were 
in  the  days  of  its  prim  perfection.  Edgecomb 
wonders,  indeed,  why  it  is  that  Mrs.  Davidson 
looks  so  young  and  fresh,  now  that  she  is  left 
to  fight  with  her  domestic  problems  single- 
handed. 


THE  COMING  OF  THEODORA.          301 

"  How  you  must  miss  Theodora !  "  even  such 
an  intelligent  friend  as  Mrs.  Shiinmin  observes, 
while  Marie  smiles  and  keeps  her  own  counsel. 

The  gayety  and  serenity  for  which  she  was 
always  noted  have  returned,  and  people  find 
Mrs.  Davidson  more  attractive  than  ever. 

It  was  in  the  early  summer  that  Edward 
wrote  his  first  letter  to  his  sister  with  his  own 
hand,  a  poor,  scrawling,  cramped  chirography 
that  was  touchingly  different  from  the  distin- 
guished handwriting  that  had  once  been  his : 

DEAR  OLD  THEO  [the  letter  ran],  —  I  want 
to  tell  you  myself,  what  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  glad  to  hear,  that  we  have  a  little  boy, 
born  just  twenty-four  hours  ago,  and  that  both 
mother  and  child  are  doing  well.  I  think  it 
will  please  you  to  know  that  Marie,  of  her 
own  accord,  has  suggested  naming  the  baby 
Nathaniel  Bradlee.  So  you  see,  my  dear, 
that  the  life  of  the  general  may  be  finished 
by  his  namesake. 

Both  Marie  and  I  wish,  dear  Theodora, 
that  you  would  come  and  spend  the  summer 
with  us.  Is  there  no  vacation  from  the  slums  ? 
Will  not  the  poor  be  glad  to  have  a  little 


302  THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

rest  and  go  to  the  deuce  in  their  own  way 
for  two  months  ?  To  quote  a  hymn,  "  I  need 
thee  every  hour."  Or  is  it  a  hymn  ?  My 
knowledge  of  such  matters  is  rather  shaky.  If 
I  were  only  dictating  to  old  Frank,  now,  he 
would  set  me  straight,  for  he  knows  them  all. 
Poor  fellow  !  His  life  is  neither  a  very  happy 
nor  a  very  easy  one,  but  so  long  as  he  does  n't 
live  in  the  slums  you  can't  be  expected  to 
trouble  your  head  about  him.  I  am  afraid, 
however,  that  he  has  n't  given  up  troubling  his 
head  about  you,  and  I  believe  he  still  thinks 
you  have  it  in  your  power  to  make  him  di- 
vinely happy.  Is  n't  it  singular  how  long  some 
people  will  cherish  their  illusions  ?  His  small 
daughter  is  as  rampageous  as  ever.  I  am 
thankful,  when  I  see  her,  for  my  many  bless- 
ings, —  thankful,  I  mean,  that  a  good  deal  of 
natural  depravity  is  scattered  about  equally 
through  four  —  no,  I  must  learn  to  say  five 
now,  —  instead  of  being  concentrated  in  one. 

Do  come  to  us  for  a  couple  of  months,  my 
love,  and  give  us  a  mental  and  moral  house- 
cleaning,  which  I  am  sure  ought  to  be  an  an- 
nual institution.  And  now,  having  quoted  a 
hymn,  if  it  is  a  hymn,  I  will  close  with  the 


THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA.          303 

words  of  St.  Paul :  "  See  how  long  a  letter  I 
have  written  to  you  with  my  own  hand."    Per- 
haps I  have  n't  got  that   quotation    straight, 
but  you  won't  know  it  if  I  have  n't ! 
With  love  from  Marie  and  the  five, 
Your  ever  attached  brother, 

EDWARD  DAVIDSON. 
Be  sure  to  come,  we  all  want  to  see  you. 

Marie  and  Edward  awaited  an  answer  to 
this  letter  with  much  impatience.  He  was  all 
eagerness  to  have  Theodora  spend  the  summer 
with  them,  and  she,  after  a  struggle,  had 
reached  that  point  of  magnanimity  where  she 
was  willing  to  have  her  make  them  a  long 
visit  because  he  wanted  it.  The  answer  was 
brought  to  them  one  afternoon  when  Edward 
was  sitting  with  Marie  and  the  little  Nathan- 
iel. His  mother  took  a  joy  which  she  felt 
to  be  unholy  in  having  this  small  morsel  of 
humanity  quite  to  herself,  and  yet  she  could 
not  help  thinking  how  proud  his  aunt  would 
be  of  him. 

Edward  tore  open  the  letter  and  read  it 
hastily. 

"  What  does  she  say,  Ned  ?  "  Marie  asked. 


304          THE  COMING   OF  THEODORA. 

"  She  says  she  cannot  possibly  leave  the 
college  settlement  this  summer,  but  that  some 
time  —  another  summer,  she  hopes  —  she  will 
join  us  at  the  seashore,  or  in  the  mountains, 
for  she  wants  so  much  to  see  us  all." 

"  But  if  she  does  n't  come  to  Edgecomb,  she 
won't  see  Frank  Compton.  Does  she  say  any- 
thing about  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  says,  '  That  chapter  is  fin- 
ished.' " 


STANDARD  AND  POPULAR 

BOOKS    OF    FICTION 

PUBLISHED   BY 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   &   CO. 


Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 

The  Story  of  a  Bad  Boy.     Illustrated.     I2mo,  $1.25. 
Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  People.    Short  Stories.    With 

Frontispiece.     I2mo,  $1.50. 
Marjorie  Daw  and  Other  Stories.    In  Riverside  Aldine 

Series.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

These  volumes  are  not  identical  in  contents. 
Prudence  Palfrey.     With  frontispiece.     I2mo,   $1.50; 

paper,  50  cents. 

The  Queen  of  Sheba.     I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Stillwater  Tragedy.    I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
Two  Bites  at  a  Cherry,  and  Other  Tales.    i6mo,  $1.25. 

Jane  G.  Austin. 

Standish  of  Standish.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Betty  Alden.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

A  Nameless  Nobleman.    i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

Dr.  LeBaron  and  his  Daughters.     lomo,  $1.25. 

Colonial  Novels,  including  above.     4  vols.  $5.00. 
The  Desmond  Hundred.    i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 
David  Alden 's  Daughter,   and  other  Stories.     i6mo, 

$1.25. 

Edward  Bellamy. 

Miss  Ludington's  Sister.    i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 
Looking  Backward:  2000-1887.      I2mo,  $1.00;  paper, 
50  cents. 

Helen  Dawes  Brown. 

Two  College  Girls.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Petrie  Estate.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Little  Miss  Phoebe  Gay.     Illustrated.      Square  i6mo, 
$1.00. 


BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 

Clara  Louise  Burnham. 

Young  Maids  and  Old.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Next  Door.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Dearly  Bought.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

No  Gentlemen.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

A  Sane  Lunatic.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Mistress  of  Beech  Knoll.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  5« 

cents. 

Miss  Bagg's  Secretary.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Dr.  Latimer.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Sweet  Clover:  A  Romance  of  the  White  City.     i6mo, 

§1.25. 
The  Wise  Woman.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Edwin  Lassetter  Bynner. 

Zachary  Phips.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
Agnes  Surriage.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Begum's  Daughter.     I2mo,  $1.25. 

These  three  Historical  Novels,  i6mo,  in  box,  $3.75. 
Penelope's  Suitors.     241110,  boards,  50  cents. 
Damen's  Ghost.     i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents.       . 
An  Uncloseted  Skeleton.     (Written  with  Lucretia  P. 

Hale.)     32010,  50  cents. 

Rose  Terry  Cooke. 

Somebody's  Neighbors.      Stories.     I2mo,  $1.25;   half 

calf,  $3.00 ;  paper,  50  cents. 
Happy  Dodd.     12010,  $1.25. 
The  Sphinx's  Children.     Stories.     I2mo,  $1.25. 
Steadfast.     I2mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
Huckleberries.     Gathered  from   New  England   Hills. 

Short  Stories.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Charles   Egbert   Craddock  [Mary  N. 
Murfree]. 

In  the  Tennessee  Mountains.  Short  Stories.  i6mo, 
$1.25. 

Down  the  Ravine.  For  Young  People.  Illustrated. 
i6mo,  $1.00. 

The  Prophet  of  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains.  i6mo, 
£1-25. 

In  the  Clouds.     r6mo.  $1.25. 

The  Story  of  Keedon  Bluffs.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

The  Despot  of  Broomsedge  Cove.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Where  the  Battle  was  Fought.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

His  Vanished  Star.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain,  and  Other  Sto- 
ries. '  i6mo,  $1.25. 


BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 

James  Fenimore  Cooper. 

Works.  New  Household Edition.  With  Introductions 
to  many  of  the  volumes  by  Susan  Fenimore  Cooper, 
and  Illustrations.  In  32  volumes.  Each,  i6mo, 
$1.00;  the  set,  $32.00;  half  calf,  $64.00. 

Sea  Tales.  First  Series.  New  Household  Edition. 
With  Introductions  by  Susan  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Illustrated.  In  5  vols.,  the  set,  i6mo,  $5.00;  half 
calf,  $10.00. 

Sea  Tales.  Second  Series.  New  Household  Edition. 
With  Introductions  by  Susan  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Illustrated.  In  5  vols.,  the  set,  161110,  $5.00;  half 
calf,  $10.00. 

Leather -Stocking  Tales.  New  Household  Edition. 
With  Portrait,  Introductions,  and  Illustrations.  In 
5  vols.,  the  set,  i6mo,  $5.00  ;  half  calf,  $10.00. 

Cooper  Stories.  Narratives  of  Adventure  selected 
from  Cooper's  Works.  Illustrated.  Stories  of  the 
Prairie.  Stories  of  the  Woods.  Stories  of  the  Sea. 
3  vols.  i6mo,  $1.00  each ;  the  set,  $3.00. 

Mary  Hallock  Foote. 

The  Chosen  Valley.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Led-Horse  Claim.  Illustrated.  i6mo,  $1.25;  pa- 
per, 50  cents. 

John  Bode  win's  Testimony.  i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50 
cents. 

The  Last  Assembly  Ball,  and  the  Fate  of  a  Voice. 
i6mo,  $1.25.  • 

In  Exile,  and  Other  Stories.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Cceur  d'Alene.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Cup  of  Trembling,  and  Other  Stories.  i6mo, 
$1.25.  (/« Press.) 

Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

Mingo,  and  other  Sketches  in  Black  and  White.  r6mo, 
$1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Nights  with  Uncle  Remus.  Illustrated.  I2mo,  $1.50; 
paper,  50  cents. 

Baalam  and  his  Master,  and  other  Stories,    ibmo,  $1.25. 

Uncle  Remus  and  His  Friends.  Old  Plantation  Sto- 
ries, Songs,  and  Ballads.  With  Sketches  of  Negro 
Character.  With  illustrations  by  Frost.  I2mo,  $1.50. 

Little  Mr.  Thimblefinger  and  His  Queer  Country.  Il- 
lustrated by  Oliver  Herford.  Square  8vo,  $2.00. 

Mr.  Rabbit  at  Home.  A  Sequel  to  Little  Mr.  Thimble- 
finger.  Illustrated. 


BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 

Bret  Harte. 

The   Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,   and  Other   Sketches. 

i6mo,  $1.25. 

Mrs.  Skaggs's  Husbands,  etc.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Tales  of  the  Argonauts,  etc.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Thankful  Blossom.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Two  Men  of  Sandy  Bar.    A  Play.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
The  Story  of  a  Mine.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Drift  from  Two  Shores.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
The  Twins  of  Table  Mountain.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Flip,  and  Found  at  Blazing  Star.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
In  the  Carquinez  Woods.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
On  the  Frontier.     Stories.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
By  Shore  and  Sedge.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Maruja.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Snow-Bound  at  Eagle's.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
AJMillionaire  of  Rough-and-Ready,  and  Devil's  Ford. 

i8mo,  $1.00. 
A   Phyllis  of  the   Sierras,  and  Drift  from  Redwood 

Camp.     i8mo,  $1.00. 

The  Argonauts  of  North  Liberty.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
A  Waif  of  the  Plains.     i8mo,  $1.00. 
Novels  and  Tales.     15  vols.  i8mo,  $15.00. 
Cressy.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
The   Crusade  of  the   Excelsior.     Illustrated.      i6mo, 

$1.25 ;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Heritage  of  Dedlow  Marsh,  etc.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Ward  of  the  Golden  Gate.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50 

cents. 
A  Sappho  of  Green  Springs,  and  other  Stories.     i6mo, 

$1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  First  Family  of  Tasajara.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Colonel  Starbottle's  Client,  and  Some  Other  People. 

i6mo,  $1.25. 

Susy.     A  Story  of  the  Plains.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Protegee  of  Jack  Hamlin's,  and  other  Tales.    i6mo, 

$1.25. 
The  Bell-Ringer  of  Angel's,  and  Other  Stories.     i6mo 

$1.25. 
The  Story  of  Clarence.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Margaret  Deland. 

John  Ward,  Preacher.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Sidney.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Story  of  a  Child.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

Mr.  Tommy  Dove,  and  Other  Stories.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

Philip  and  His  Wife.     i6mo,  $1.25. 


BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

Works.  Little  Classic  Edition.  Each  volume  contains 
vignette  illustration.  In  25  volumes  (including  In- 
dex). i8mo,  each  $1.00;  the  set,  in  box,  $25.00; 
half  calf,  $50.00 ;  half  morocco,  gilt  top,  $62.50 ;  tree 
calf,  $7 15.00. 

Riverside  Edition.  With  Introductory  Notes  by  George 
P.  Lathrop.  With  12  original  full-page  Etchings 
and  13  vignette  Woodcuts  and  Portrait.  In  13  vol- 
umes. Crown  8vo,  gilt  top,  $2.00  each;  the  set, 
$26.00 ;  half  calf,  $39.00  ;  half  calf,  gilt  top,  $42.00 ; 
half  levant,  $52.00.  The  set,  15  vols.,  including  "  Na- 
thaniel Hawthorne  and  His  Wife :  "  A  Biography,  by 
Julian  Hawthorne  (2  vols.),  $30.00;  half  calf,  $45.00; 
half  calf,  gilt  top,  $48.00. 

Twice-Told  Tales. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse. 

The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables,  and  The  Snow-Image. 

A  Wonder-Book,  Tanglewood  Tales,  etc. 

The  Scarlet  Letter,  and  The  Blithedale  Romance. 

The  Marble  Faun. 

Our  Old  Home,  and  English  Note-Books.     2  vols. 

American  Note  Books. 

French  and  Italian  Note-Books. 

The  Dolliver  Romance,  Fanshawe,  Septimius  Felton, 
and,  in  an  Appendix,  The  Ancestral  Footstep. 

Tales,  Sketches,  and  other  Papers.  With  Biographi- 
cal Sketch,  by  G.  P.  Lathrop,  and  Indexes. 

Dr.  Grimshawe's  Secret. 

Mary  Hartwell  Catherwood. 

The  Lady  of  Fort  St.  John.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
Old  Kaskaskia.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Chase  of  Saint  Castin,  and  Other  Stories  of  the 
French  in  the  New  World.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Arthur  Sherburne  Hardy. 

But  Yet  a  Woman.     i6mo,$i.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Wind  of  Destiny.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 
Passe  Rose.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Mary  Catherine  Lee. 

A  Quaker  Girl  of  Nantucket.  i6mo,  $1.25. 
In  the  Cheering-Up  Business.  i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Soulless  Singer.  i6mo,  $1.25. 


BOOKS  OF  FICTION. 

Miriam  Coles  Harris. 

Writings.       New    Edition,   uniform.      Each    volume, 
i6mo,  $1.25;  the  set,  n  vols.,  $13.25. 

Rutledge.  Frank  Warrington. 

The  Sutherlands.         Richard  Vandermarck. 

St.  Philip's.  Missy. 

Happy-Go-Lucky.        Phoebe. 

A  Perfect  Adonis.        An  Utter  Failure 
Louie's  Last  term  at  St.  Mary's  (for  Young  People). 

i6mo,  $1.00. 
Happy-Go-Lucky.     i6mo,  paper,  50  cents. 

Blanche  Willis  Howard. 

One  Summer.     New  Poprtlar  Edition.     Illustrated  by 

Hoppin.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Aulnay  Tower.     I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
Aunt  Serena.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
Guenn.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Open  Door.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  Fellowe  and  His  Wife.     Collaborated  with  William 

Sharp.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
No  Heroes.     A  Story  for  Boys.     Illustrated.     Square 

I2mo,  75  cents. 

William  Dean  Howells. 

Their  Wedding  Journey.     Illustrated.      12010,  $1.50; 

i8mo,  $1.00. 
A   Chance  Acquaintance.     Illustrated.     I2mo,  $1.50; 

i8mo,  $1.00. 

A  Foregone  Conclusion.    I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Lady  of  the  Aroostook.     i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50 

cents. 
The  Undiscovered  Country.     i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50 

cents. 

The  Minister's  Charge.     I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
Indian  Summer.     i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Rise  of   Silas  Lapham.     i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50 

cents. 
A  Fearful  Responsibility,  etc.     I2mo,  $1.50  ;  paper,  50 

cents. 

A  Modem  Instance.  i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  Woman's  Reason.  I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
Dr.  Breen's  Practice.  I2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Sleeping-Car,  and  other  Farces.  I2mo,  $1.00. 

Rev.  George  A.  Jackson. 

The  Son  of  a  Prophet.     i6mo,  #1.25. 


BOOKS  OF  FICTION". 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Elsie  Venner.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50 ;  paper,  50  cents. 
The  Guardian  Angel.  Crown  8vo,  $i  .50 ;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  Mortal  Antipathy.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

Augustus  Hoppin. 

Recollections    of    Auton   House.     Illustrated  by  the 

Author.     Square  8vo,  $1.25. 
A  Fashionable    Sufferer.     Illustrated  by  the  Author. 

i2mo,  §1.50. 
Two    Compton    Boys.      Illustrated    by    the   Author. 

Square  8vo,  $1.50. 

Henry  James. 

Watch  and  Ward.     i8mo,  $1.25. 

A  Passionate  Pilgrim,  and  other  Tales.     12010,  $2.00. 

Roderick  Hudson,     izmo,  $2.00. 

The  American.     I2tno,  $2.00. 

The  Europeans.     I2mo,  $1.50. 

Confidence.     i2mo,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Portrait  of  a  Lady.     i2mo,  $2.00. 

The  Author  of  Beltraffio;  Pandora;  Georgina's  Rea- 
sons; Four  Meetings,  etc.  i2mo,  $1.50. 

The  Siege  of  London  ;  The  Pension  Beaurepas ;  and 
The  Point  of  View.  I2mo,  $1.50. 

Tales  of  Three  Cities  (The  Impressions  of  a  Cousin; 
Lady  Barberina;  A  New-England  Winter).  I2mo, 
$1.50  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Daisy  Miller:  A  Comedy.     i2mo,  $1.25. 

The  Tragic  Muse.     2  vols.     i6mo,  $2.50. 

Sarah  Orne  Jewett 

The  King  of  Folly  Island,  and  other  People.  i6mo,  $1.25. 
Tales  of  New  England.     In  Riverside  Aldine  Series. 

i6mo,  $1.00. 

A  White  Heron,  and  Other  Stories.     i8mo,  $1.25. 
A  Marsh  Island.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  Country  Doctor.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents, 
Deephaven.     iSmo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 
Old  Friends  and  New.     iSmo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 
Country  By- Ways.     iSmo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 
The  Mate  of  the  Daylight,  and  Friends  Ashore.     l8mo^ 

gilt  top,  $1.25. 

Betty  Leicester.     iSmo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 
Strangers  and  Wayfarers.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Native  of  Winby.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
The  Life  of  Nancy,  and  Other  Stories,     i6mo,  $1.25. 


BOOKS   OF  FICTION. 

Ellen  Olney  Kirk. 

The  Story  of  Lawrence  Garthe.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Ciphers.     i6mo,  §1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

The  Story  of  Margaret  Kent.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50 

cents. 

Sons  and  Daughters.     I2mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 
Queen  Money.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 
Better  Times.     Stories.     12010,  $1.50. 
A   Midsummer   Madness.      i6mo,  $1.25 ;    paper,    50 

cents. 

A  Lesson  in  Love.     i6mo,  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 
A  Daughter  of  Eve.     12010,  $1.50;  paper,  50  cents. 
Walford.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  [Mrs.  Ward]. 

The  Gates  Ajar.     i6mo,  $1.50. 

Beyond  the  Gates.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Gates  Between.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Men,  Women,  and  Ghosts.     Stories.     i6mo,  $1.50. 

Hedged  In.     i6mo,  $1.50. 

The  Silent  Partner.     i6mo,  $1.50. 

The  Story  of  Avis.     i6mo,  $1.50 ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Sealed  Orders,  and  other  Stories.     i6mo,  $1.50. 

Friends  :  A  Duet.     i6mo,  $1.25  ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Dr.  Zay.     i6mo,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 

An  Old  Maid's  Paradise,  and  Burglars  in  Paradise. 
i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Master  of  the  Magicians.  Collaborated  by  Eliza- 
beth Stuart  Phelps  and  Herbert  D.  Ward.  i6mo, 
$1.25 ;  paper,  50  cents. 

Come  Forth.  Collaborated  by  Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 
and  Herbert  D.  Ward.  i6mo,  $1.25. 

Fourteen  to  One.     Short  Stories.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

Donald  Marcy.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

The  Madonna  of  the  Tubs.  With  Illustrations.  Square 
I2tno,  75  cents. 

Jack  the  Fisherman.  Illustrated.  Square  12010,  orna- 
mental boards,  50  cents. 

A  Singular  Life.     i6mo,  $1.25. 

F.  Hopkinson  Smith. 

Colonel    Carter   of    Cartersville.      With    Illustrations. 

i6mo,  $1.25. 

A  Day  at  Laguerre's,  and  other  Days.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
A  Gentleman  Vagabond,  and  other  Stories.   i6mo,  $1.25. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


INILKLIB^AHV  LOAN 


JUii  12  i 

Co   /_-'" 


JUL081986 


ceipt 


A    000  097  956    7 


